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% \ \ •• -: -’ — ■ 1 ■■—■■■ ■■■■■■ M .. r k r ■ _ ■■■ ‘H ■ ■ ‘ n Kfiante^igL^-ic.’3tf fcJinna ~ . rTn ——r-ir-rtt-r ir—-- m tit ~- TT'^ZT .'imiVn'n'.Mrr’ .t:.;■ 7iT~■■ Trr—r ,-r—r~—: JOHN’ HENRY SEALS, ) A >’ u ‘• Editors. L. LINCOLN VBAZEV, S NEW SERIES. VOL. L WiPEKiIK CRUSADER. PUB LIS “TO CER\ ‘SiTgfiDAY, EXCEPT TWO, Ilf THE YEAR, BY JOHN H. SE ALS. Tl£R*W : it; trance; or s*2,o*> ar the end of the year. *k.\TKB OF APVKRTISING. 1 sqL-m* (twe.We lines or !•• iir-t iriHertinn,. -$1 00 ’ Each coiitimmnfe,. *- • - 50 Professional or Business (ku’ds, r.at'exceeding .six lines, Tgryear, , tomoiuicing Canuidates for Office, 8 00 *rN< i AI^TKETTShMFNTS. 1 square, three months, ft 00 ,<! square, six months, 7 00 1 square, twelve months,. 12 00 ? squares. iV “ .18 Os? 8 squares, “ “ “1 00 •1 q iar°s, “ “ 2o 00 ■jNlP*’ Ajvectiserner.Us not marked with the number of insertions, will bo continued until forbid, and charged’ ftccordingly. !>r;ijrsrV'ts, and others, may con- [ tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms, j LF.n AX .VO VFUTIS'EMFNTB. Sale of Land, or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians. per square,... 500 Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,— ‘A 25 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 8 25 ‘Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 7o ■Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00 i Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi anship, 8 25 LEGAL KKQF tEEMKNTS. 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 ?4>nrs of ten in the forenoon and three in the after- noon, at. the Court House in he County in which the j property is situate. Notices of these sales most be I given in a public gazette forty days previous to the j day of sale. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be i given at least ten days previous to the day of sale, j Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must j he published forty days. Notice that application will be made to (he Court J of Ordinary for leave to sell Laud or Negroes, most i ‘be published weekly for %* month*. (Stations for Letters ot Administration must be J . published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin-1 itratioo, monthly , six months—io r Dismission from i Gu irdianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub- j lished monthly for four month * —for compelling titles j from Es’ tutors or Administrate vs, where a bond has been given Ly the deceased, the full space of three j im-nths. . * will always be continued accord- ! ing to these, the legal l equheii'euts, unless otherwise ” ordered. The Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, arc considered as wishing to continue their subscription. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their i newspapers, the publisher may continue to ssud them until all arrearages are paid. 8. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their newspapers from the offices to which they arc di rected, they are held responsible until they have set tled the bills and ordered them discontinued. i, Ls subscribers remove to other places without informing the publishers, and the newspapers are sent to the former direction, they arc held responsi ble. 5 The Coims* have decided that refusing to take newspapers fr m the- office, or removing and leaving them uncalled for, is print* facie endorsee of inten tional fraud. 0. The United States Courts have also repeatedly > deekUd, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform i his duty of giving reasonable hot be, as required by the Post Office Department, of the neglect cf a per son to take from the office newspapers addressed to him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher j for the subscription price. A JOB PHI X TIN Or, of e very description, done with neatness and dispatch, mt this offi -e, and at re;v-on;;b1e prices lor cash. All orders, iu this department, must be addressed to J. T. BLAIN. ~ m >lW ni i 1 i MHiiHniTiiTWTrwwrmmranTni — iFMQdtrs&xxzzxnmxmcvta ■nrub-r^-*^?*. -if. PHOsyi: € t r s S OF THK TffIRMOE ■ CRUSADER. [pc .ivr, vjfJ •TSMKBRANCK BANNER: ■ CTI T ATEI> l>T a conscientious desire to further yj, the cause of Tempi ranee, and experiencing --roi'C disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in *n#ce, by the smallness of mr paper, for the publica tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals, determined t > enlarge it to a more conve nient and acceptable si'A-. And being conscious of ihe fact that there are existing in the minds of a Dortion of the present readers of the banner uii-i its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties winch can never-be removed so long as it retains the n we venture also to make a change ip that; nr o>r,iar. It will henceforth be called, “THE TEM PERANCE CRUSADER.” This old pioneer of the Temper tnce cause is des -r ed vet>o‘chronicle the trmwnh of its principles. | {this stood the test—passed through the “Heiy f<ir- , -nrc ” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re appeared | luscorched. It Isas Survived the nempaper jamim which has caused; ‘and is still causing many excel*• ’.eiit i aj-aais and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex haHtious in the evenin to rise no more, and it has Pveu heralded the “death struggles of manv contern* •-.or."tries, .laboring fhr the same great end with itself, li “stHi lives,’’ and “waxing bolder as it grows older, i now waging an eternal ‘ Crusade against the ln -4 nai Liiiuor Traffic,” standing like the “High Pnest ;, f t }, e Israelites, who stood between the people and ■be nl-igue that, threatened destruction. Vcenbeat the frtends of the Temperance Cause n( ,1,1 paper. We intend presenting to the public a silted worthv of ait attention and a liberal patronage; c, )C w hile it is strictly a Temperance Journal, we shall endeavor to keep its retukwposted on all the current orents throughout the couutry. ‘ . as heretofore, sl, stnet-y m advance. ** ’ JOHN. H. SEALS, Editor and Proprietor. Penfieid, tii.. Dec. 8,1885. iItWA to feitperante, Pnralilj, steofatt, (Sraera! Jnttllipte, Httos, fe. £sl if eeCEcttteo xxM- Setedh&n $ For the Temperance Drusadet. The Power cf Consoience. BT n. C. aJASSEXOALE. ’f'vas in tire height of wi;.tor’s night, An even ns drear ar.d daik. And howling w hirlwinds rent the skies, And s.yell’d *he w tteh-dog's bar k— j To era were bursts of snow and sleet, and hail, And icy men slid’ and stark. A way in a rough and lonely spot, Uy tno broad Savannah’s side, Away where tin* (all trees’ branches,wave And the*, woods sin tch *ar ar.d wide, “ To ft Wretched cot, thrift tl n wild storm's rage, A dark awn onward hied. ■And a vroma. fiyrii, infii tr>, and worn, By tune’s and care’s impress, By fee lib? flalwe on the -worth she sat Ini’ r widowed loneliness — No “chick nor chi.o” on < a? th had she, Ilet- withering years to bKss. She sat, and ‘he howling storm raged on. And sir breathed her Maker’s name; Yet the cold winds £. . ypt with maniac Lo-.vl And chided her tottering frame ; The door was r<*nt wish a fearfil crash, And the datk intruder cum’e. lie came like a demon wild with lust-: lie came with a bloody hand— And long, deep draughts from the mad’nin? cup The frantic iiarne had fanned, It seem’d a the imps of'hell wye by When the cursed deed was planned. - The'storin went by, the sun rose bright, The lonely cot was there; But spite of the dreamy glory flung Athwart the fresty air, There were some that wept—for the lonely cot Had been murder's horrible lair 1 Long years had passed, and rumor’s blast 1 L'd hushed its visioned song; That night’s dark deed had ceased to iiit The bosom’s thoughts along; The mind no longer dwelt upon That night of blood” and wrong. But the dark man wandered up and down Away in far oh - lands— And the gay world’s smile and the reckless laugh Os rude and law less hands, They could not chase the guilt from his soul. Nor the blood from lijs trembling hands. Ir the dream of night, in the blaze of day. That woman, frail ar.d old— He heard I he shriek of her broken voice. And sa v her shivering cold, And her wild and glazed eyebaUpstart At his fierce and murderous hold! I # . I The power w* bin, with the daring sin. Still grappled h ird and strong, | And his guilty soul with visions wiki, And quaking thoughts would throng : “My heart will break a.id my brain will rave To bear this burthen long!” The dark man turn’d to the world again. Aid the goblet high would id’; “1 will taste of ii-e’s bright pleasures yet!— Shai! I wreak out my own ill? i I tray Laugh at the bonds that haunt my brain If my coward tongue is still! ’ But the thought .-.till burned his burthened soul Like maniac tknd- <>l uelt. 1 The bright joy that lie sough tyvft§ pain Fo:* there Would the black Mends dwell; I And they whispered to him of the bloo ly deed, Suit urging bun to tell. •Ncrdaj nor night, nor dark nor light, Under evening’s crimson’d sky. When the balmy breeze perfumed the air, Or the storm was hurrying by, Could he chase that paL cold form away, Or liUaii tiiat dying cry. “I must tell my guilt!—come well; come ill, TI c iaL I must unfold!-, -81 k sou ns on m • from the lone hearth-side, And the night is bleak and e- id ; 8:e iOit rs üb. ut and her breath Comes hard —- She is poor, and pail, and old. i Is e the mark on her wrinkled hock \\ here my duk hand did assa l, ! Hoi- gray hails stream and hei 1 p i-? blue, Ami Uer cueek i.vi'ollovv ami pale!” 1 The bl ick lieo.ds gruined, leering, said, “You iiiusr t-li ihat horrid rale ” * ’Tv s a pure and sunny day n spring, And m-ntfel bands were there, limners and > him -s were w vin-g high, Ami sti e in iug bright an-.i iiii?-, — | Arid he bark in.m marched to thogallows tree To a dull and sol> ran air. ; Wright-.bori), Oct. 10. . i—— Noah and Brevity. , Many cento He* asr\ tlie Euihwas cov ered with it gr.at H.ro i, by which the wl-olt of ibe bntnau race, with tin.* oxcejrtiu.ti ol one Lunily were destroyed. It appeaivs ui so that tu.qa tlu-m:.* a great- alteration... wa.- made in the longevity of maiikfl'd, who. ; Irons a r mgy of* r.,*ven or eight lnjn<ired yeidte which lhev enjoyed before the flood, j were confinCS to .heir present -peri* and of 70 or SO yenrs. This o;.',<jh in the history oi un.n gave birth to ‘be two fold division of the aufe-dehr inn end post-deluviuh gfylv of writing, ibeTittfor of which uaturalh [ contracte-f itself into tlfose intcMior limits j which were better ‘aec*>iurnodfted by Hie abridged duration of human life and iifera ry labor. Now, to forget this ‘event —to vvrite without the leap of the deluge before rheir eyes, and to handle a iib jecl as if mankind could -lounge over a pamphlet for ten ve -ird, ms before their snhinetsion, is to be guilty of the must grievous error in to which a writer could {.-ossii.l v fall. The author of a book tdrotlld call in the aid of some i riiiiant pencil, and cause the dis treSs ing scones **i the deluge to be portray ed in the moot lively colons for his use. — tie should gaze at Noah and be brief. The ark should constantly remind him of the httle time there is left for reading ; and he .should learn, aa they did in the ark, to crowd a great deal of matter inio a . very little compass. —/Sidney /Smith* P@FIELD, GA, SATURDAY, OCTOBER % 1856. M¥ WIFE’S ECONOMY. BY SMITH JONES, JR. Mrs, Jones is a jewel of a woman. The dear creature came home, lately, from a shopping excursion, in the most extravagant spirits. “I have made such bargain* to-day,” she said. “Only to think. I bought a lawn-dress i beautiful tiling, for but six dollars. It has he style, however, of the highest-priced elks, so ( g rid to myself, even if I get Mad one Flourish to make it up, it will be eco nomical.” Anw Madame Flourish was a French nOtHste who had lately come over from Fa ns. nuu really had tasie, but. was most ex travagant in.her charge-; and l never heard her name without a -hudder. A few months before, she had made up a brocade for Mrs Jones, which everybody said fit beautifully; ii looks as if you were born in it,” enthusi ’St cally declared a friend, “and had grown with you:” but my pleasure in contempla ting this master-piece, i must confess, was somewhat diminished when the bill came in. to the tune of twenty-five dollars, for mak ng and trimming it. However “it wasn’t -?o astr nishing alter all,” as my wife reason ed, “that a dre.vs pattern, which was worth seventy-five dollars, should cost twenty-five to make it up,” ami with this reflection I consoled myself. So, when I heard the pro posal to take this other dress to Madame, I argued, that, if she charged in the same pro portion, her bill would be only two dollars, which struck me as not excessive; and ac cordingly I made no objection to the sug gestion, but lighting a cigar, sat thinking of Mary Ann’s many virtues, and especially her knack for economy. In about a fortnight the dress came home. It was a pretty, blue affair, with palms set in stripes, and Mrs. Jones really looked like a summer cloud in it, as she floated about the room, displaying it in every aspect, and expatiating upon its merits. The sleeves, which were short, were neatly trimmed with a sort of narrow lace ; and the cape, for it was cut low on the shoulders—and dear Mary Ann always wears capes over such dresses—was embellished with a wider lace of similar pattern. I thought to myself it was the chnpest dress, at eight dollars, making and all, I had ever seen; and as I smoked my cigar, said mentally, “Ah! Jones, what a happy dog you are to have a wife with such a-knack for economy.” Two.days after, the bill came in. My wife opened it first, and I saw her face fall. But she rallied immediately, and handed the missive to me. “Whew I said, “fifteen dollars for mak ing a dress ihat cost only six ! Surely, Ma ry Ann, there must be some mistake here?” “Oh ! no. my dear,” she said, briskly.— “My brocade, you know, cost twenty-five to make and trim ; and this is ten dollars cheaper.” “But this dress pattern cost only six dol lars.” “The cost of the dress pattern, mv dear,” she replied, smiling benevolently at my ig norance, “has very little to do with the cost of making and trimming it ” “The dickens it hasn’t,” I began. “llish i” she answered, playfully putting her hand over my rn> uth. “Smithy, dear, you mustn’t swear.” And taking the bill, she commenced going over it, item by item. “Here.” she said, “is the charge for mak ing lhe dress, that is for fitting and sewing ;t toge he? - , four dollars. Now I’m sure,” she continued, appealingly, “that’s reasons b'e. Four dollars is he>* price always. Ii take 4? just as long, you know, to fit and sew together a cheap dress as a costly one; it’* the lime that has to be paid for. Don’t you see ?” I was forced to nod assent to the fair lo i gician. though it was with an internal groan “Then there’s the linings, buttons, and other small items, two dollars, which is low. very low. Consider how these matters count up. Besides,it takes time to go about among the stoies, matching the buttons to the dress.” 1 could not gainsay lifts either, but I said to-myself that there were nine dollars still unaccounted for, and that it would “puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer” to reconcile this sum to any rational being’s notion of economy. “There’s nine dollars left,” resumed Mrs. Janes, which is for the Valenciennes-——'” “The wlml ?” “The Valenciennes, with which the cape and sleeves are trimmed * “Oh ! that common-looking lace ” “Common-looking 1” cried Mary Ann, her eyes .sparkling. Then she laughed comical ly. “That shows what you men know about laces. Why, Smithy, dear, its real Valen ciennes, and very cheap; and what’s more, 1 can use it, on something else, after the dress is worn out.” “But why put real Valenciennes, as you call it, on so cheap a dress'?” I asked in a tone of vexation. “It's that very Valenciennes that gives the dress such a stylish look. Everybody know tis a cheap material; its the trimming that redeems it; I only want a Valenciennes collar, to match it. and 1 shall be complete.” 1 could not speak for amazement. I was dumb, not merely at this strange notion of art economical dress, but at the utter uncon sciousness my wife had that there was any th ng extravagant about it. She availed herself of my silence to expatiate on the beauty of Valenciennes laces in general, and on that which trimmed her dress in pa rile-! ular; .and warming with her subject, made j it finally to appear that we were under inti- i nite obligations to Madumje Flourish for the opportunity o’ oaying this hill and buying a collar to match her Valenciennes. Mrs Jones was so earnest and sincere, that I thought it would be a pity to break her charming delusion. 1 resolved, therefore, to smoke second-rate cigars for ibe next six months, and indulge she dear creature in her wishes; and she looks so l<ve?v, and seems so happy, in her new dre*s and eoi ;ar, that, to confess the truth, i don’t regret what I have done. Nevertheless, as an abstract proposition 1 still hold to the secret opinion, that [lay ing fifteen dollars for making ;mu :rimming a dress that cost only fftx, doesn’t exactly show n knack for economy. Where is the Sunnier? It is no longer ago than yesterday we : heard a friend say. “I am going in the conn- j tiy to spend the summer?” Is it more than j a few brief hours since the last strawberry, j dressed in cream color and scarlet, melted ! upon our lips? .Surely we smeli the June; roses—and the blossoms of the apple frees. ! Is it more than a little week since the air was redolent of firecrackers and the Fourth ! of July? What have we been about that we have not caught the skirts oft he passing summer and held a sober talk with her?— How sly she was to keep our eyes on the good things in her hand; and then as a mo ther vanishes while the babe is grasping his toys, so she passed like a vision. What is it growing down there in the garden so close by the strawberry bed?— As sure as you live, a pumpkin with a thanksgiving sermon tucked under its shell. And what glistens on the road-side, right in the path of last June buds? Huge tons oi coal, “black, but comely,” oh i ye aalighter s of New England. And why these pots in seemly row’s —these rivers of molasses — these bushels of unripe fruit with a flavor like mingled vinegar and a persimmon puck er? Speaking of pucker, did you ever see a persimmon bitten by the unitiuted ?-- Wouldn’t a painter make his fortue if he could transfer that picture to convass? We remember a scene of the kind. “Jack,” said a roguish traveler, “that’s a nice fruit, just taste of it”—and Jack tasted. “Whistle, Jack, whistle,” cried his tor mentor. And Jack, whose mouth resembled a parched pea, perforated, gazed at the other with a most woe-begone aspect, as he re plied, “Oi couldn’t wussle t’ zave my moi lithe.” Oil! it was too ludicrous —it was side splitting, and Jack never forgot the time he couldn’t “wussle.” But, really these jars of pickle tell the sto ry : they’re not so green but what they can do that. They tell us that, fall is corning; that it is right upon us clad in its robegi ol russet. That noble wood-pile has some thing to say about it, too; it murmurs be tween its (the saws) teeth, of blazing fires and frosty, kettles thawing out good humor edly and warming towards their flames, though they are sure to he always in hot waiter, such busy bodies they are. it tel is of cosy hearthstones, and snug little sitting rooms, with someone to sing “sweet home” at the piano—of a kitten purring upon the rug—of a rocking chair with an old lady m it, and a cradle with a baby in it——oh ! such stories as that wood-pile teils ! Yes, friends, yea and verily the summer has shaken hands and said good Live at la it. Fail is here, respectable fall, a middle-aged matron with ruddy cheeks, and cap and spectacles, knitting stockings for old win ter’s toes. The forest will ere long put on the beautiful garments of decay, and then lookout for snow bails and-sleigh rides Olive Branch. —— *— Work, Work. I have seen and heard of people who , thought it beneath them to work—to cm \ ploy themselves industriously at some use- ! tul labor. Beneath (hem to work . VV by. j work is the great motio ; and he who ac- j CO mpiis he s the most by his industry, is the most truly great man. Aye. and is the most distinguished man among his fellows. too. And the man who so forgets his dutv to himself, his fellow creatures and his God —who so far forgets the great blessings o; life, so as to allow his energies to stagnate ; in inactivity and uselessness, had better die: j tor says Holy Writ, “He that will work not. j neither shall’he eat.” An idler is a camber- j er of the ground; a Weanne-s curse to ban- j self, as well as those around hun. Beneath human beings to work! Why. what but the continued ‘-industry that brings . forth the improvement that never allows man to he contented with any attainment he may have made, of any work he may have effected—What but this rises man above the brute creation, and, under Prov idence, surrounds him with comforts, luxu ries, refinements, physical, moral and intel lectual blessings? The great orator, the great poet, and the great scholars, are great working men. The vocation is infinitely more laborious than that of any handjcralt ism—and the student’s life has more anxie ty than that of any other mail. And with out the perseverance, the attention ot real industry, he can never succeed. Hence, the number of mere pretenders to scholar- J ship, of those who have not the strength J and industry to be real scholars, but slop hall-wav, aiid are mere smutters—a shame to the •profession. Beneath human be mgs to work ! Look m the artist s Studio, the poet’s garret, where ihe genius of immortality stands ready t<> : seai ids works with her uneffaeeahle signet, and then you will only see industry stand ing by her side. Beneath human beings to work ! Why 1 had rather a child of mine should labor j ‘ egulai I\, at the lowest and meanest em- j ployment. than !o waste its lime, its bodv. j m.nri and soul, in folly, idleness and useless- j ness. Better to wear out in a year than rust out in a century. Beneath human beings to work! Whai ! >;U wo; k has tided our fields, clothed our od es. built our houses, raised our church es. pruned our hooks, cultivated our minds and souls? “Work out vour own salva tion,” says the inspired Apostles to ihe Cl en tiles. Pocket Deep. Yes—say dt.es vour religion go pockc* lev]). Were you converted only in the up per story— the oil in up only scalped — n ■vrsis he kill <1 dead ? Does your religion r*.w.h only about that “unruly” member, t so thud, cut your head off, and. sou! atm i body would both bedswnn.d ; or, wm..yoi I converted, right flown through, from hen* j to foot, u soui, body and spirit,” pocket, pocket-book and ad ; Not merely the cop pers, three cent pieces, 'smooth lbiirp* n ees, but those dollars, and eagles, and V\ ind XV? Say, Irienft, when God convert ad you. did ho convert house, barn, cellar, orn cribs, potum bins, meal bags and all? Yon have, been praying for a “deeper, work i of grace.” lioAv deep will you .have it— pocketdeepj You ha-cdesired to “feel mure deeply.” How deep ?—pocket deep \ or do you want to leel only akin defcp You don’t fee! as you want to : Well, per haps von never will till you feel in yom pocket more. J list think of these matters, will you ? You feel for .your brother ; well, just fee : in your .pocket. Yd u feel for the poor* we! ft el in your pocket. You feel for “tin cause;” well, feel in your pocket. You feel for poor preachers: well, feel in yom pocket. And if you fed there, von vvd! ffiake others feel, and feel very thankful too, that God has come servants whose re- i iigion is pocket deep. “O, I don't believe in talking so much j about pecuniary matters.” ‘You don’t eh? | Ah, wol 1 ; I guess j our religion is- not j pocket deep yet. Try again, v . get c j little nearer him who “was rich” and “be | came poor” for you. You feel rather plea* j ■ai when God’s blessings come rolling bit. your purse and dwelling. That's all right; ’but the Lord Jesus said, “iris more bless ed to give than to receive.” Now don't -hrug your shoulders so; I'm not- going to beg a sixpence from you; don’t be alarm ed. I wouldn’t ask you to give me u dollai ftm ail the money you have in the world. Duuit fret; all I want to know is wheduei your religion is pocket deep or not. Just think of it a little. I don’t a3k whether v u would scatter everything to the foir winds if you the Lord was coming, .so that you couldn’t.-use it; hut whether yon art ready to pen the bag now, when it can b. of use, as at some other tune, when it will he scattered in baste and tear, cud do m one any good, and perhaps will do lurch hurt, as lias often been the ease in Dim post. In a ward, is your tad fob >n pocket d>.ep or is ii only skin deep;—Cross and Crown. Extraordinary Longevity. Divio Koife, a negro, died a! Corinth, I Mi-3.,’ on the 2d nit., at the age of 111! years. The Corinthian Pillar says of'him., “fie had r*- inai feu hie powers ot endu < ranee, was a tine Carpenter, ami built v j iarge frame.dwelling fr Mr. Mo?s, at tin i ! uiv.-meed ngt oS 314- years, in audition t< I ! . . , , ” ~ . > I ■ oe’.og ft goon wo? km u, no was a tine- jung \ j*f wi>ik, and frequently amused himself :t | j -‘nth.-ising the order of Architecture being j j.ivaivd in Corinth. lie supported hiinseb j | .-xc'u-dvGy by his own exertions, and not I withstanding his master would have cheer fully supplied him with all the necessaries •ft life, ins independence of spirit re.bukec the idea of being an object of charity, so long as im could raise un arm tor his sup po, t. lie has during the present summer ,;.rawn between 3 ami 400 shingles a day. j and. Inis frequently’ walked f* Corinth a dis tunee of 2 miles after a hard day’s work, to >np}dv himself with sugar and coffee so | the month, lie was never sick in bis iife, ! cor did lie ever t;,ke a dose of medicine.— i ! But death the relentless pursuer finally | ! overtook him, and he, now sleeps his lust ! sleep.” “Jim Watson’s On the plantation of James Watson, near Port Gibson, Mississippi, may be wiine-sed an exhibition of memory that is truly re markable. An African girl about fourteen years oi age, answers to the name which heads this article. Ii is the custom of Wat s<n to give rewards for over-work, and du ring the cotton picking season the amount each hand picks is weighed twice per day —noon and night. This girl stands by the overseer and listens to the number of pounds announced lo each hand, and at night the re sult is reported with the utmost accuracy, iler correctness is repeatedly put to the test TERMS: ffil.OfTTN ADVANCE. ) JAMES TANARUS, BLAH, V. i'rjstck. VOL. XXILHVtfMB® 42. by \\ at sop and others, who keep inemiiran (!as during the w eiuhinsr.; tirl n and vor t vo afterwards she *s catechised, and her mem “rv {bmid perfect. Mr. Watson woks from sx*v to seventy hands. What sy tern of assoc ation tins girl ho* to remember ab stract numbers die is unhMe to tell. About Bugs. Inuiviuufilly insig>ii!kv..n% some iuseefs become, when assembled in their congre- Jf.iteo hosts, a most formidable scourge to m-n, or one ut his f bthfui and profit able ’objects. The locust, moving with his nighty host across the leafy forest and the gr* en fields, lays waste the verdure of vholc countries, converting them into wild •no barren deserts, while the honey-bee -mi silk- worm are m ide the almost <! ines iicHted allv of our race, f"r their use*. — \ et, there are some Which, as individuals o’e so niueli ot‘ annoyance. often call u rtn the angry question. “What arc such •refttuivs macli} for.” All things have their uses, and in the great economy of na’U ’e, •Touting is brought into being without some nd or use. The cm 1 tnnsquitothat ‘*sii gs M 1 sings,'’ arid slabs you while 1 e singe, uni tiie !;1 >oc?-thirsty bug that, asaussin- I be. seals upon von in your .-dumbers w th mu deroue intent, lid up, each of them, no l >ubl, an important place in the great whole. A singular ami curious tradition uj said to exist among sect of Kurd*, ro 'iding at the foot of Mount Siudsbar, of he origin oi insect vermin. It runs as {bl ows : “When Noah’s ark sprang aleak by stri king against a rock, and N*ab despt r‘d [together of safety, theses pent promised ro help him out, oj’ the mishap if he would mgage to feed him upon human flesh after •the deluge had suo ided. Noah pledged dmself to do so, ant) the serpent, coiling tin,self up, drove his body into the frae ture and stopped tiie leak. When the flood aid passed away, and all were making way their wav out of the ark, the serpent resisted upon the fu ifdhnefit of the pledge, ml Noah, by GabrbTs advice, comuiiittd (he serpent to the llamas, and scattering oie ashes in the air, there arose ant of .them dies, fleas, lice, bugs, arid all such sorts ■ .•f vermin a? prey upon human blood.” Whatever may be ihe truth or falsity of this tradition, one thing is true, tb..t all sorts of flesh are the prey of some insect which, like the tkol-a vampire, sucks their vital blood. Tiie word bug, as it is now i applied to a species of insect, has a enri | ops origin. la. the Ceb : e, if signifies ghost i -r t/ohlin, and it is-only in recent times I that “thatß;x b.ggcd ‘not* i\* which ef> ep j nth by night, has been sO'appeiiated.” And | n proof <f tiiis, tiie author of * li s c; Ms | -ellanies” stale:-, “that in Matthew's Bi '• de. the ssh verse of the Ist Psajms is thus rendered : Tm*u sh It not tmed be a iraid of any bugs by night !” From ill's comes, also, our word “bug-bear.—liar per for October. lO 3 The London ‘limes relates nn in stance of womanly presence of mind and unmanly parsimony wb oil occurred at ‘Southend iaiely. A gentleman engaged a bathing machine, and had swu p out .about a hundred feet from the machine, when a •ry was heard of “save .me ! save me!” lie was attacked with.cramp; Ins arms were upright and fmge s extended. A young mut swam oui to him, and coni I have br>u 2i it him n -Ik,we, had no:, the drowning mm clasped tunra* pond, and prevented fur ther action; they both sank iw ce together, At tins moment a delicate-looking young woman, about five fy years of age. rushed j into tiie sea, auu swam out u> them w.th-ill I her cothes on, and succeeded m holding j b-n.h tip. fill a b= *nt ar.r-.ved and rescued them, j ii'tLe drowning man vv is taken asljme <n { sensible; and the usual remedies were appli ! ed wnl* sucae s; but what was the leward ■ ofle.ed to this young woman, who had risk j tti her own hie.dor a st angers Just one j khdl iig ! for that was the .amount he ten j din ed the young lady; and Iras same added i ingratbude.Jo meanues.-, by suiting that tie j vvas not it) sn -h danger us was supposed. Faith a> and Hogue —A little child about i fired veers old, while passing through $ nnrul on one of out principal railroads, . finding herself in total < arktiess, relieved but occasionally >y a gleam of light shoot ng down from openings in the arch above, mb hearing only the rumhiingof the train is it grop <i *?ts way, In came somewhat < x citt*d in her feelings, ami, without speak nga word} clang, as"a child wbl always h>, to her parent, upon whose lap she was -itlipg. Ijpbn emerging from the tunnel, she looked up, her sprightly’ couiterranoe ic&himg with joy, and said, k ‘Pa, 1 m go ing to sing— ‘There is 9 happy land.’” and assent being given, in her own artless way she sung of that happy “happy land, far, far away.” •* , - John and Julia. —*• J >hn,” quoth tho gentle Julia, to her sleepy lord one vr.rm morning nt a h\te hour, “l wish y ou’d take pattern'by the fhermdmeter.” “As howt** murmured her worse r half, sleepily opening lys optics. Why— by rising.” ‘TFur, I wish you’d imitate the other fizv magig that ha igs up by it-r-the barometer.’ “ Wuy fco V’ ’ “*C .use then you’d let me know When a storm’s coming.