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m | ' ’ ? 1? m p lA\ r"j rs f) Hi\| r) H A\-f f) rYHo* c-* Jjj jj JLMJLJ'Li iji JJJHI £ IRI J jt .... • i - rnmTriiiiiiraM- - • ■ j. a.turner-editor.} '% 8® ctliljj Jionnial; —to f iterator*,- politics, ao| (ieiiiral IpsMaiii). {terms,s2,oo a year. VOLUME I. fjttrjj! The Lawyer and Sawyer. To set lip a village With tackle for tillage, Jack Carter he took to the saw; To pluck and to pillage This same little village, Tim Gordon he took to the law. They ambled so pliant For guerdon and client, As sharp as a weazel for rats. Till, what with their law dust, And what with their saw-dust, They blinded the eyes of the Hats, Jack brought to the people A bill for a steeple: They swore that they wouldn’t be bit: But out of a saw pit Was into ajaw-pit— Tim tickled them up with a writ. Says Jack to saw-rasper, "I say neighbor Gasper, We both of us buy in the stocks, While I. for my savings, Turn blocks into shavings, You’re shaving the heads of the blocks.” Jack caper'd in clover, But work it was over Got drunk as a fool for a freak; But Timothy Gordon, He stood for' church warden, And cat himself dead in a week. Jack made him a coffin. But Timothy off in A Joud clap of thunder hod flown ! Viiea lawyers lie level, Be sure that the devil Looks sharp enough after his own. isiTlkmrons. FOR THE J.VDPEXDEXT PRESS. MY UNCLE SIMON’S PLANTATION; OR SKETCHES OF SOUTHERN LIFE. ’&c. BY ABRAHAM GOOSEQUILL, ESQ. TIMOTHY LITTLEJOHN ; OK THE LITTLE MAN WHO WANTED TO BE PICKED UP. "No, forsooth; he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard—a Cain-colored beard.” \Mtrry Wives of Windsor. It has been, and still is, in some places, a custom in this country for politicians to go out, on the eve of an election, and “pickup” all such of the sovereighty who “don’t care a darn” how they vote, and retain them the over night, secure their votes in the morning, and then turn them loose again. If possible, a brand is put upon them, so that they may be known at the next election —-until which time they remain in a state of oblivion to their friends, the candidates, like the torpid state of a toad during the win ter. This practice lias become extinct wherever intelligence lias shed its genial beams; and we are induced to hope that the time is at hand, when education will teach every man the value of his vote, and he will cast it as virtue and his own judgment shall dictate. But even now, in some dark corners, there is occasionally seen a man, or rather the shape of a man, who is willing, aye, anxious, to be “picked up.” - ‘ On the first day of October, 184—, Timothy Littlejohn saw the twenty first anniversary of the day that gave him birth. ’Twould be a sin—now, wouldn’t it ?—for Tim to pick cotton, pull corn, or dig potatoes on the re turn of the day that did him so great a favor as to dawn on his infantile ex istence. But we need give ourselves no farther trouble about that, for his birthday came ori the Sabbath; and therefore, independent of its be ing his birth-dav, he would hardly work on the day of rest! Now, old Mrs. Littlejohn, from the circumstance of her son Tim’s having been born on the Lord’s day, had pri vately prognosticated that he would, some time or other, become a preacher, or, at least, a class-leader or exhorter. Having stated this prognostication on the part of the old lady, which will cast some light upon an after part of Tim’s history, I proceed. The first day of October aforesaid, about sunrise, Tim got up off his pun cheon-made couch, in one corner of his daddy’s log cabin, and after yawning and groaning several times, began to put on his” “Sunday fixins. ’' His mammy was an attentive observer, and when her son groaned, she thought of how Parson Head well said his prayers at Church, and, as she turned off, a “bless the Lord” escaped her lips. Tim’s first labor, after that most tre mendous one of getting out of bed, was to slip .off the shirt he had .been - wearing all the week, and substitute a nice, clean one, made of cotton osna burg, domestic manufacture—which, however little protection had been af forded it, forgot the lex talionis, and was about to alford protection to our hero. After this was done, he called for his little brother Tommy to bring hi in abroach of coarse thread to fasten the collar and waistbands, which was effected by passing through the eyelet holes and tying what looked more like a cable than a pack-thread. His next labor was to look in “the box,” and take out what had once been a satin stock, about a foot wide, “more or less.” Nothing of the original article remained but the whale-bone and felt, and this was now covered on the out side with one or more rabbit-skins.— It was adjusted about his neck, and tied on behind with some of the cot ton thread oft' of the broach which Tommy had brought. “Tommy,” says Tim, “run to ’tother house and fetch big brother the look in’-glass, and daddy’s beard-cutter— that’s a man.” Now, Tommy couldn’t resist the ap peal of being called “a man;” so out he put, as fast as two of his legs, and all of his arms, could carry him—ma king use of the latter to balance his body -as lie went; and such was the peculiar make of his hands and arms, that, as they vibrated, they looked, more than'any thing else, like the pen dulum to the old clock which stands in one corner of Uncle Simon’s par lor, reaching from the floor nearly to the joists. It may be necessary to explain to the reader what Tim meant by “ ’tother house.” Old Mr. Littlejohn had two cabinsr on his premises, one for sleep ing, and the other for cooking. When. you were in the dwelling-house, and wanted to speak of the kitchen, you said, “ ’tother house,” and \wlien you were inmtlie kitchen, arid wanted to speak of the dwelling, you still said, “’tother house;” ’tother house being the cabin from which you were ab sent. , a nd is a little slow about getting and returning with the “lookin’-glass and daddy’s beard-cutter;” so, while he is gone, we will hold up the mind’s mirror before Tim’s thinking machine ry, and see something of the operations of that engine. We see reflected from the surface of that mirror these words: “I reckin I’d better turn out my whis kers, to-day, for fear as how they’ll think I’m too young to vote, to-mor row.” There, now, that will do!— Take down the lookin’-glass. We' see what is uppermost in Tim’s mind. He s “‘yotin ” in his head, while the old lady thinks he’s cogitating about “preachiii.” But don’t let’s un deceive her; if we do, we shall des troy her air-castle, and that were a pity. Tommy lias returned with the “look in’-glass,” but no “beard-cutter” is vis ible. Tim, however, was so full of whiskers and voting, that he did not observe this latter fact, as he said: “Tommy, don’t you think I’d better turn out my whiskers, this morning?” He, he, he, ha-a-aw,” shouted Tom my; “daddy says as how you’d better go to the grease-gourd, and smear the flat side of your punkin, and then call old Towz to lick ft.” It’s well old sister Littlejohn wasn’t present at this juncture, for something very like “he’d be dod durned” escap ed Tim’s lips, but the balance of his words were so smothered up by indig nation, that no one could have compre hended them. Our hero was soon pacified, however, by Tommy’s draw ing from his trowsers-pocket the razor which had been concealed there at his father’s .suggestion. It was not used by Tim, who had, by this time, fully determined to turnout whis ker, mustache, imperial and all, not withstanding the unkind insinuation of his. father, endorsed by Tommy. After viewing himself for some time in the mirror, ouY hero proceeded with dressing. Ilis next care was to put on an old pair of blue broad-cloth breeches, which were his father’s when lie was a young man, and whieh were now patched on both knees, and also on the seat There were no straps to these much to Tim’s sorrow; and, to add f to his grief, several of the gourd-buttons were broken oft The places of the latter jyeret soon supplied by pegs, as they are called, or by small EATONTON, GA , SATURDAY, JULY 1, 1854. wooden skewers, made by a case-knife from apiece of lightwood' lying in the corner. Ilis trowsers were donned, and secured to his shoulders by a pair of suspenders, one made of an old surcingle, and the other of a strap of leather. In the absence, of socks, old pieces of blanket, tied around his an cles with cotton strings, formed a pret ty good substitute. Then came a pon derous pair of red brogans, whieh seemed to cumber Tim’s pedestals more than considerable. They were a pres ent from the neighboring shoe-maker. Mr. Pinchtoe. Tim felt almost like David did, when Saul dressed him up in a coat of mail. He was nearly ready to say, “Thy servant hath not proved them;” but. he remembered “the ’lection,” and so compressed his feet, which were too large all over, into the shoes which were too small in a similar way. After success here, he put on an old vest which reached down to his hips, and his work was done. His wool hat was placed on one side of his head for two reasons; one was to play the dandy, and the other was because there was so much hair all about there, "that he was forced to make a virtue of necessity. I bad almost forgotten to mention about his coat. As to that, lie didn’t have one; but that wasn’t the reason he didn’t put it 6n, by any means. lie didn’t choose to do so; and, in this glorious land of liberty, no one is forced to wear a coat, provided he doesn’t choose to do so, or provided, farther, lie doesn’t own one. Well, the last act of the grand dra ma was to look at himself in the glass once more, first holding it before him, then to each side, and finally behind him. No belle could have played the courtier to her own image with more devotion. Now, Tim sticks his hands in his pockets, struts out of doors, and, as he goes, says to Tommy, who stood “in awful awe and wonder,” with peep ers and bread-trap all open: “Never mind, little ’un, } T ou’ll be a man your self some ’o these days.” Brcakfast was ready by this time, and so confident was the old lady that Tim felt religious minded, that morn ing, she had almost called on him to say grace; but then she “knowed that Tommy and the ole man, an’ the bal ance ’o the children, would all laugh at the poor child, who was so modest, she was afeard it would be the death of him some time or nother.” So she did not ask him to say grace. The young man devoured his break fast in silence, and “the old man and the balance of the children,” were so eager in the same employment, that they did not rally the poor fellow about his whiskers. Tim, escaping this an noyance, so soon as he was done eat ing, got up and left the house. The old lady jumped up from the table, and peeped through a crack to see which direction he would take. After breakfast had been oyer for some time, the family began to talk about Tim ; and Tommy told how mad he got when he delivered his father’s message about old Towzer’s licking his brother’s face. At this, Mrs. Littlejohn seemed to be very much shocked, at her husband and son Tommy, whom she declared to be a “chip of the old block for deviltry, and teazin o’ other folks.” “Now, ole man,” said she “don’tyou know as how the scripter’. says, ‘Fa ther’s, don’t pervoke.your childun to git mad?’ Now, you pervoked -Tim, this rnornin’, and he’s gone off away down in the woods to pray about it. I seed, at the table, that thar was some thin’ in liis mind a workin’, and a swelling and a risin’, like my yeast thar in the corner, that I have to put in the coffee-pot, because as how you wont buy a skillet.” ♦ While this is going on in the house, let us follow Tim, and sec what he is doing. He goes into the woods, and his first act is to find a grape-vine— which, found, he draws a case -knife from his packet, and straightway com mences, with malice prepense, an As sault upon the unoffending vine—not with intent to commit murder, but with intent to manufacture a pair of , straps. In this lie succeeds to his notion, by. passing.a small vine under each foqt, and tying it in holes which he had cut on both sides of each breeches-! eg. — After this is dune, he spends tiie bal ance of, t|ie time in gathering .and eat- u WITHOUT FE.tll. l\l T'On OH *IFFEVTIO.V ing eliinquepins, hickory nuts, grapes, muscadines, &e., until about 3 13.I 3 . M. It is useless to tell the reader, after what I have already said, that his mind, all the while, had been running on the election. He was not a Whig, and he was not a Democrat, but was a man to be “picked up.” Any gentleman could have his vote for a night’s lodging, and one or two drams. His neighbor Worthless, had told him a glowing tale about how Squire Takemall had once carried him home with him, giv en him a first rate supper, as much brandy as he could drink, and then put him to sleep in a bed that had cur tains hung up all around it. Next morning, he had sat in a room covered all-over with bed quilts, and listened to the Squire’s daughter pick the big gest kind of a banjo, until time to vote. He had then walked arm in arm with the Squire to the Court-house, and vo ted ; after which, the Squire gave him a whole dollar, and he went off and got drunk as much as he darned please. Now, such things as these were well calculated to inspire our jmuthful hero with an ardent desire to be served like wise. Ilis brain fairly reeled with vis ions of nice breakfasts and suppers, brandy, big banjoes, and fair young ladies. This being the case, at 3 o’- clock, P. M., he quit the woods and wended his way homewards. Without being seen by any one, he goes to . the kitchen, takes up a sheep-skin lying there, and unfastens a leading line from a bridle hung up on a peg, with the re mainder of a set of plough-gear, and with-sheep-skin, rope and bridle, hang across his back, he sets out to a.small field hard by, in which grazed Dob bin. Going up towards the palfrey, he said, “Wo, fellow!” Dobbin, I guess, thought he said, “Go it;” for the way he traveled from one end of the field to the other, couldn’t be beaten except by a locomotive, and hardly that. I am candidly of the opinion that he thought himself the wild steed of the desert ; for he bowed his neck, hoisted his tail, and absolutely brought a loud snort. — Nothing daunted, the would-be-rider followed him up, and got nearly, close enough to put his hand upon him, when the jade uttered a slight squeal, gallop ed off a hundred yards, and, turning round, snorted again. This process of allowing Tim to approach very near him, and then darting off in a gallop, was repeated many times, until the young man was nearly tired down. About this time, he came to the con clusion to change his mode of opera tions. He thought lie couldn’t force Dobbin to the bit, so he would He goes off with all speed to the corn crib, and, taking up an ear of corn, which left the pile considerably less, he returns. Holding out the corn to wards Dobbin, lie says, “Come here, old fellow!” and the old horse, not used to seeing such things as ears. of corn, wished to examine one as,a curi osity—so, with all speed, he proceeds to the examination. Nearly up to Tim, he spies the bridle, and, coming to a dead halt, seems to think, “Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes only he thinks it in English, never having been to College, and, therefore, unacquainted with the Latin tongue. — Upon Tim’s approaching him, although the ear of corn was still held out in a very tempting manner, he put off again. Several oaths crowded each other out of our hero’s mouth for, lack of room, notwithstanding the extraordinary size of the hopper to his internal grinding machinery. “Well,” says he, “some of the neigh bor women says mammy thinks I’m gwine to preach; but, es I ever does, I’ll have have it in my license to cuss old Dobbin once a week.” At last Tim succeeded in catching Dobbin in this w ay: He hid the sheep skin, bridle and rope, behind a big stump, and, holding out-the ear of coin, succeeded in enticing the horse up to him ; whereupon, lie naught him by the; foretop with his left hand' and, pla ting the thumb, of-his right hand in one nostril, and the fore-finger of the same hand in the-other, he led him to the stump, Uhcld by a giant’s' gripe— -r-, and the*sheep-skin, with the wool side out, thrown across his back' to serve the place of a saddle, .anyl fastened oh with the rope-substituted for a girth.— , Thus caparisoned, the steed was mount ed by his rider, who was now inaquau proceed, by another path, to the road leading to town. Says he, “If Igo by. the house, daddy will be a plaguin’ o’ me, and isl go’tother way, the childun won’t see how well I look on the hoss. But, Dobbin, it makes no odds how I go, I’ll pay you, arter I git away from the house, for the way you sarved me this arternoon ; you hear, ole hoss?” Finally, the idea of being seen and admired by the children outweighed the fear of being teazed by his father, and he resolved to go by the house.— All the family, parents and children, were sitting out in the yard under an oak tree, as Tim rode up, doing his best to look, for all the world, like Marshal Murat, ready to charge a troup of Cossacks. “Thar’s Tim, now,” said the old la day. The old man, spying Tim’s grape vine straps, bawled out, “A fust rate idee, Tim ; it’s well you tied them ant-stornpers o’ yourn up to your breeches-lees, or they’d a broke Dobbin down to tote ’em, they are so heavy.” After saying this, a peal of laughter made the woods ring, and Tommy joined his father in the merriment. Tim kicked Dobbin in the side, and struck a lope to get out of the reach of his father’s voice. “Ha, ha ! Tim’s gwine to see the gals, this evening, and I’ll bet my old hat on it,” said the old man. The old lady didn’t think so. She thus discoursed about it: “Now, old man, be ashamed to plague the poor child so. Here he’s Open out all day a fastin’, an’ lamin’ what to say to-night in the prar meetin’ at brother Nextdeor’s, and when he gits up on Dobbin to go over thar, you are plagin’him to death. Come, Susy, let’s git supper early, and go over to hear your brother exercise— : come, child.” By means of magic, we must trans port ourselves instanter to Hustle down ; for Tim travels so fast, we can’t keep up with him by ordinary means. We’ll get there before him, and see his grande entree. It is about sun-down. Squire Tak emall and Col. Whistlecraft, men of different parties, but particular person al friends, are sitting at the corner of Sprawls’ Tavern. Neither of them took any interest in the pending elec tion, and, therefore, they were not ac tive in electioneering or “picking up.” About this time Tim made his advent. Dobbin’s tail was sticking out at an angle of ninety degrees, on a horizon tal line with his backbone. His head was erect, and his neck was bowed in such a way as to form au angle, (rath er than a curve,) whose apex savored more of acuteness than obtuseness.— Really, there seemed some danger that the said neck would break in two ; but a closer examination would have told the observer that there was too much tough skin and gristle there for that. His wethers were several inch es .taller than the neck, .where it left the body, which seemed to issue out of the shoulders as that of a terrapin does from his shell. He was what jockeys call ewe-necked, and had been rendered more so by hard work, and by having had a fistula when a colt.— His back-bone, which more resembled a cross-cut saw covered with horse-skin than any thing else, grew lower and lower towards the haunches, so that some folks would have called him droop-rumped. The knees of his fore legs turned in, and his hocks turned out, indicating a real digging pacer, which would excayate a hole large enough at each step to bury himself.— He was said by Tim to be “as good a piece of hoss flesh as was ever wropp ed up in the same amount of hide.” Dobbin came into town, down an extendecLslope, in a long pace—a pace, however, which bounced Tim up and down as much as the hardest kind of a trot could have done. A light breeze compelled the horseman, for the safety of his liat, to hold it in one hand, instead of keeping it on his head. He had to lean forward to keep from falling off, and, as his body went towards the horse’s neck, his feet receded towards Dobbin’s flanks, and his legs were drawn up. Every now and then, a spur-end of the grape-vine straps K,pld approximate tlfo' old horse’s nks, wfien,.like the Irishman’s “crit ter.” would “rear up behind,” and then proceed faster than before. Going down hill, old Dobbin’s pace became . every moment accelerated, as much from acquired velocity as from animal exertion. From a long pace he got in to a gallop, which became every mo ment swifter and swifter, until there was a prospect that his speed would equal that of a few hours before, when Tim was'trying to bridle him. It now became a serious question with the rider, how he should ever snip his steed. He pulled the bridle with all his might, but this only balanced Dobbin and as sisted him in the race. He was for some time too proud or too dignified.to open his mouth; but, about the time he got opposite the gentlemen whom I have just mentioned, lie concluded there must be a halt at all hazards.— So he bawled out at the top of his voice, “Wo, Dobbin !” Dobbin took him at his word, and, planting his fore-feet in such a way as to form the broadest possible base, ploughed up the ground for some distance, and stopped stock still, while Tim chose to keep on, and was landed over the horse’s head, some fifteen feet in front. “Pick him up , Squire Takemall,” shouted some one across the town. Poor Tim was taken up and placed upon his horse, full of dirt, and groan ing under a multiplicity of pains and bruises. After lie had gone a little way towards home, in a very slow gate, he is reported to have said: “Darn all such picking up /” Old Mr. Littlejohn heard of this ad venture, and Poor Tim came as near being ‘plagued to death’ as. ever any mortal did. , It was a long time before the old lady could forgive ‘the child’ for not going to brother Nexl door’s to preach that night. Mnoiv JYotkings. This is the singular title of anew, se cret and powerful political and religious organization, which has sprung into existence in the Northern cities, and is rapidly on the increase. It cuts like a trenchant sword, into old party lines, and may create a total change in the politics of the country. Thus far, the success of the movement has been be yond all precedent. In New Orleans, New York, Boston, Brooklyn, Phila delphia, Washington, and many other places, the “Know Nothings” were en tirely successful to the complete sur prise of the public and' amazement ob the old political wire-workers. The organization is secret, and the answer to all inquires is don’t “Know Noth- ing.” But the following from the “Know Nothing and American Crusa der,” published in Boston, is said to be the platform of the order of “Know. Nothings:”. 1— of all Naturalization Laws. 2 None but Native Americans for office. 3 A pure American Common School System. 4 War to the hilt, on Romanism. 5 Opposition from the first and last to the formation of Military Companies composed of Foreigners. 6 The advocacy of a sound, healthy, and safe Nationality. 7:—Hostility to all Papal Influences, in whatever form and whatever name. 8— American Institutions and Ame rican Sentiments, r 9 More stringent and effective Em igration Laws. 10— The amplest Prot ction to Pro testant Interests. 11— -The doctrines of the revered Washington and his compatriots. 12— The sending back of all For eign Paupers landing on our shores. 13— The formation of Societies to protect all American Interests. 14— Eternal enmity to all who at tempt. to carry on the principles of a foreign Churcn or State. 15 — Our. Country, our whole Coun try, and nothing but our country. 16 — And finally, American Laws and American Legislation, and death to all Foreign Influences, whether in high places or low. “Pythagoras laid down such rules as he thought most conduced to maintain tranquility of mind. He allowed no beverage but water.” — Dr. Cocke. “He who would have a dear-head, must have a clean stomdeh.”— Dr. G. Cheyne. “Nothing is so great a friend to the mind “of man as,■ abstinence.”— Dr. ; south: “Even from the body’s purity, the mind receives a secret sympathetic aid.”: ;V Lewis Cornaro,;.;who died about an 10Q,.years old, wrote/<wr treatises aftep attaining his eightieth y.egr, the last being written attfie age of 95. TTe.ab- j stained from strong drink after4o years [ of age;' ' ■ i * - V:-- j J A corps of mounted Police, is being ! organized in Savannah, On. • Y V? p* •'* y- - NUMBER 11. Curious Predictions. There are several predictions ex-/, tant which have threatened Mahome tanism a long \vhile. Bibl iander affirms, “that there is a famous prophecy among tile Mahometans, which'strikes, a great terror both in men and women, and which says, “that the empire shall be destroyed by the, sword of the Christians.” The prophecy is ex pressed in the following words, which are translated out of .Persian into Latin, by Georgievitz: “Our emperor shall come, shall take the kingdom of the Gentiles, shall subdue it even unto seven years; if the sword of the Gen tiles shall not rise again, he shall reign over them twelve 1 years, shall build a house, shall plant a vineyard,,shall, en close gardens with a hedge, shall have a son and a daughter; alter, twelve years, the sword of the Christians shall risC up, which shall' beat back the, Turk.” Sansovin published a book in 1570, wherein he affirms, “that there is a prediction ‘that the laws of Ma homet shall last no longer than a thou sand years, and that the empire of the" Turks shall fall under the fifteenth sultan.’ ” He adds, “that Leo the phil osopher, emperor of Constantinople, ha; said, in one of his books, ‘that a light-haired family, with its competi tors, shall put ail Mahometanism to flight, and shall seize him who is pos sessed: of the seven mountains.’-” The same, emperor makes mention of a col umn which was at Constantinople, whose inscriptions the patriarch of the place explained, and said' that they signified “that the Venetians and Mus covites shall take the city of Constan tinople ; and after some disputes, they shall choose, with one consent, and crown a Christian emperor.” This light-haired family, so fatal to the Mus sulman, puts me in mind of a passage '. of Dr.-Spoil, which I shall set down. “Os all the Christrian princes, there is none whom the Turk fears so much as the great czar of Muscovy—and I have heard some Greeks say, and among the rest, the Sieur Munno-tMannca, a- mer chant of the' city of Arta, a man of wit and learning for that country, that there was a prophecy among them which imported ‘that the empire of the' ) Turk was to be. destroyed by a na tion chrysogonos , that is, liglit-haired which cannot be attributed to any but the Muscovites, who are almost all light-haired.” There is mention made of - this in the “Miscellaneous Thoughts on Comets,” on occasion of'l know not what tradition, which is current, “that the facts have promised the French the glory of destroying the Turks.” The prophecy of the Abyssinians mentions only a Christian king, who shall be born in the north. “Mecca, Medina., and the other cities of Arabia Felix, shall hereafter be destroyed, and the ashes of Mahomet and his dissipated ; and that some Christian prince, born in the northern regions, shall perform all this, who shall also seize on Egypt and Palestine.” It is pretended that a book was written in Arabic concerning this prophecy, be fore the taking of Damietta, and that this book was found by the Christians. Willichius relates, “that the Turks find in their annals, that the reign of Mahomet shall continue until tl>e arri val of the light-haired boys.” Some think that this denotes the Swedes; but AntUny Torquato, a famous r as trologer, applies if to the king of Hun gary. — Bayle. " f\y . y •I Chapter on “Traps.” We. daily notice in, some one of our exchanges, advertisements to the effect that foi tunes are to be made in, a day, I>y the’use of certain receipts—a thou sand and one in number. By the tone of their advertisements some think that all these men say is true, and are-green enough to invest, pretty largely in such enterprises, qnct find to their own mortification, that they have been egregiously “gulled.”' The men who are at the head of them, no doubt, make large fortunes, but who ever heard of any one at the South, invest ing in these enterprises, who made anything? We think it is time that the press at the South should take up the matter, and expose these institu- qj tions in their naked deformity, Their f attempts to “gull” honest'SouthernersJ through the columns of Southern news- * papers, are too bare-faced to admit* of palliation. The principal “heac!s”fbf some of these establishments have en deavored to thrust their advertisements extraordinary into our columns, by|j continually sending and them to our address, with the request that wo publish.•; AVe have invariably passed'them'- by unnoticed, ;believhjte, as we do,, that these, same “heads” ar£p swindlers in the strictest sense of tho* word—because they hold out induce-; mehts w h ich are false. W e hope the ' good sense of Southerners will not sai ler them to be: imposed upon by conn [f/x‘kcifigi.% - There :nv 101 or twelve frightful ea- ses of lip, tongue, . and face cancer in' / the London cafiher hospital, all re-f suiting froih cxceWtvh;§mokino-. ' J ' ° TIM^.VI.M-onunonFrcnohsolUi^' V - -d} omviii - u, ( i.