Newspaper Page Text
■ ■ • -
BY J. A-TURNER.
VOLUME 11.
Ifetrji.
ron THE IWDEPETNDBNT PRESS.
To E- S- G
BY MARION CI.ATTO.V
Oh, no! I would not meet thee now—
Since life lias laid its glory by,
Since years of grief have checked thy song,
And paled thy cheek and dimmed thine eye:
1 would not have dark shades displace
The vision of thy early grace.
So bright a form thine image wears,
Within my inmost heart enshrined—
So loved the picture memory bears,
With youth’s sweet garlands round it twined —
I would not mar one cherished trace,
By gazing on thy altered face.
And oh! the ruin time lias wrought
Os ail that once was fair in me!
So sad the changes years have brought,
So sad my cheerless destiny:
Deep lines are set upon my brow,
So strange —you might not love mo now.
I know that soon & brighter clime
Will give back all we've lost in this:
The happy youth, the bloom which time
No more can fade—it will be bliss
To meet thee then, on that blest shore—
But not before—no, not before.
||istd!;utmis.
FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
The Idiot Boy.
BY MARION CLAYTON.
In the summer of 1839, whilst trav
elling in the north-eastern portion of
Georgia, at noon of an exceedingly
sultry day, we stopped to refresh our
selves in a thickly shaded spot, near
to where a busy little rivulet was mur
muring and sparkling over white peb
bles and glittering sands. Our tired j
horses were soon enjoying the rich, I
tender grass that grew luxuriantly on j
the borders of the stream. The driver
extended himself on the green carpet
to rest, whilst I took my basket of
provisions and strolled away in the di
rection from whence the water flowed,
imagining from the appearance of the
stream that we could not be very far
from its source. 1 was right in the
conjecture; for before I had walked
two hundred yards, I found a bold,
clear spring bubbling out from a mossy
bank in the side of one of the loveliest
little dells in the world. A giant
beech tree spread its broad arms imme
diately over the fountain, and at a little
distance a cluster of tall and graceful
water-oaks contrasted their deep, glos
sy foliage with the paler green of a
poplar—all together forming a barrier
impervious to the noonday sun, ex
cept when here and there, through
some irregular vista, a few bright rays
fell in broken masses on the ground.
A few unpretending wild flowers were
blooming quietly beside a pile of gray,
mossy rocks, and a luxuriant Muscadine
vine, rising from among the twisted
roots of a Pine, spread its long tendrils
• from tree to tree, binding them all to
gether in beautiful brotherhood.
After admiring thesereue loveliness
of the spot, and slaking my thirst with
the sparkling waters, I seated myself
on a fragment of grey stone and open
ed my store of provisions. Oh! that
cold lunch at the spring by the road
side ! What costly dishes on the lux
urious tables of the rich can bear any
comparison to it in delicacy! llow
■delicious the cold biscuit! How lus-
I cious the ham I How refreshing the
i pure water from the fountain! There
I as nothing in the whole catalogue of
■ Preach cookery that can tempt a lan-
Iguid appetite like these,
ft Having finished my delightful re-
M)ast, and still feeling reluctant to
■Cave the enchanting I amus-
Hed myself by endeavoring to decypher
ntiie names rudely carved on the trunk
®of the old Beech—many of them ren-
Blered almost illegible by the sunshine
storms of accumulated years. Pre*
Mently I observed two persons slowly
■Approaching, by a little foot-path that
iffivound around the side of the hill. A
■fiddle-aged woman was bringing her
Rueket to fill at thespring, and with one
wand she guided the tottering footsteps
W her son, who walked by her side, a
,f»d example of the deplorable state to
|lfphieh disease reduces its
■petims. He was an epileptic. Jknow
how many years lie may have bonne
flpte burden of his bl#?ted existerk&f
% aßtddi; f mtnal:--jftWd ta literature, § olitics, atti) dmwl llbaflaaa.
They may have been twenty they
may have numbered only ten —for the
signs by which the ages of others are
usually told were not applicable to him.
His form was dwarfed, blasted, dis
torted ; and bis haggard and passion
less face wore that touching appearance
of helpless old age, which a shattered
intellect often induces, even on the lin
eaments of childhood. They soon ob
served me as I sat on the rock, and the
boy, coming close to my side, fixed his
dull blue eyes on my face, in a blank,
expressionless gaze. The woman pla
ced ber bucket on the ground and
stood for a moment watching his move
ments. There was grace and dignity
in the easy courtesy with which she re
turned my salutation, and I can never
forget the sad expression of mingled
pity and resignation that rested on her
intelligent countenance, as she looked
on the blighted face of her unfortu
nate child. He stood by me in silence,
even when I addressed him making no
reply; but after several moments he
pointed to the spring, and asked if I
wanted water. I answered him, I had
already quenched my thirst, but he
seemed not to understand me, for he
went immediately and dipping a gourd
of water brought it to me, and bade
me drink. As I passed it to my lips,
a gleam of satisfaction illumined his
dreary countenance, and when I re
placed the vessel in his hand —in a low,
deep tone that has been ringing in my
ears at times ever since—he repeated
the beautiful words of our Savior at
the well of Sychar: “Whosoever
drinketh of this water, shall thirst
again: but whosoever drinketh of the
water that I shall give him, shall nev
er thirst: but the water that I shall
give him shall be in him a well of wa
ter, springing up into everlasting life
and as the last words fell from his lips,
he turned slowly away, and rejoining
his mother, they soon disappeared
around the hill.
I cannot tell wliat ideas were traced
on the ruined tablet of his mind, by
the holy words his lips had been
taught to utter. It may be that He who
had formed it at first, and afterwards,
in mysterious wisdom permitted its
destruction, had spared some fragment
from the wreck on which his own sa
cred truth might still be engraved in
living characters. It may be that the
broken harp, that refused to respond
to the strains of earthly melody, still
owned a chord that wakened to the
song of immortality. Most probably)
however, the poor boy had but a very
imperfect conception of the deep
meaning of those words, but, parrot
like, from having them often repeated
to him, had learned to use them him
self, without a thought of their value.
But if to him they were meaningless,
still they had their effect upon me, for
they were the words of Him who spake
as never man spake, and He had detei’-
mined that they should not return un
to him void, but should accomplish
that which he pleased.
I had often heard that text before;
often read it—always admired it, for
its beauty, its pathos, its mingled gran
deur and simplicity ; but never before
had it fastened on my heart, as some
thing that concerned my own eternal
happiness; I had considered it only
as a beautiful thought—an elegant
metaphor, simply and gracefully ex
pressed. Now it seemed the solemn
enunciation of a sacred truth; on the
right understanding, and proper ap
preciation of which, might depend
the endless weal of my immortal
being. It placed before me the
abiding comforts and untold joys of,
the spiritual life, in overwhelming con
trast with the paltry, fleeting vanities
of time, and bade me fix my choice,
and, as my humbled mind began to
comprehend the magnitude of the in
terests involved, I knelt by the rock
and earnestly prayed that I might in
deed be enabled so to drink of the
waters of eternal life that I might
thirst no more. Years have passed
since then, and,my wayward feet have
often wandered from the path that
leads to that blessed fountain ; not be
cause I knew not the way, for it is
straight and plain, and the wayfaring
man, thougli a fool, need not err there
in ; but because earthly pleasures al
lured, and I yielded to the fascination;
but when the voice of the charmer
has seenied sweetest, and her smile
most bewildering, the image of the
Ijbot'boy has appeared again to my
EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1855.
imagination, and his well remembered
voice has invited we once more to the
only stream that never fails to satisfy
the longing soul.
I have never seen his face since
then, e±Cept by the light of memoly,
and probably never shall on earth;
but I hope to meet him hereafter, when
the weariness of life shall have been
forgotten in the Test that remains for
the faithful. He will be greatly
changed, When every trace of earthly
suffering has passed away forever from
his mind, and form, and face, but I
shall recognize him still, for the mist
that now obscures my own percep
tions will have vanished too before the
glorious rising of the Sun of Right
eousness, and when in Heaven we
drink together of the stream that glad
dens the city of our God, I hope to
acknowledge him again as one of the
many instrumentalities that were em
ployed to conduct my wandering feet
to that blissful fountain.
A True Sketch.
The following faithful picture drawn
by John H. Smith, Esq., associate ed
itor of the Wilmington Free Press ac
tually transpired in our own city' of
Raleigh. We well remember the
soul-thrilling cries and harrowing
shrieks of the heart-broken mother.
We stood near the gallows as the un
fortunate victim was prepared for the
fatal drop and warned the multitude
around him to beware of strong drink
-t—the foul demon that had brought
him to his fearful end. Anxiously he
looked for and seemed to expect the
approach of a courier bearing the Gov
ernor’s reprieve; and writhing under
terror and suspense he would cry —“It
is hard for one so young to die a
felon’s death! Oh !
cursed whiskey ! it has ruined me.”
The last five minutes of his time had
come; the Sheriff adjusted the rope
and death-cap ; the fatal cord was cut;
and poor Madison Johnson hung be
tween heaven and earth, the disgraced
and lifeless victim of strong drink.
[Ed. Spirit of the Age.
In the days'of my boyhood, I knew
a young man who was in the eigh
teenth year of his age or thereabouts.
The healthy blood flowed in his veins
and he bid fair to live many } r ears.—
But although nurtured by tender
parents and taught to avoid evil prac
tices, he mingled in evil company and
at last he began to drink liquor. His
father who kept a grog-shop ascertain
ing that he drank to excess forbade the
clerk from letting his son have any, on
pain of being discharged. A few days
after this order, the young man enter
ed his father’s shop and demanded a
drink of brandy.
“ Your father has positively forbade
me letting you have any,” said the
good-natured clerk.
“ I don’t care what he or you says
either, ” shouted the young man ; for
his passion was becoming ungoverna
ble.
“You can’t have any liquor from
this place, sir.”
“I cannot?”
“Not a drop.” *
“Then I’ll have something else,” and
the young man, fiercely drawing a
pistol from his pocket and presenting
it at the frightened clerk, said
“Give me liquor!”
“I'll die first.”
“Then die !—l’ll have liquor !”
A report —and the clerk fell a
corpse on the floor. The murderer
was arrestsd. Mad with the effects of
brandy he raged the more as those
around endeavored to pacify him. He
became the sole occupant of a dismal
dungeon—the felon’s home and too
often the drunkard’s home. The un
fortunate youth was left alone ; alone
with his own conscience and with no
eye to watch the operations of remorse
when he become sober but the eye of
the Eternal.
The awful day of his trial is at hand.
He is put upon his trial and pleads
“Not Guilty.” Counsel -use every
stratagem to clear him ; but after a pa
tient investigation twelve.honest and
capable men pronounce him guilty of
murder. The Judge with a sad heart
and unyielding Sense of duty pro
nounces the-dreadful sentence of death
upon the doomed man. He is re*
manded back to liis dungeon .home,
where, cutoff from hope in this world,
he might prepare for eternity.
The revolving wheels of time bring
tjie fatal Friday; the crowds of men
are gathering here and there—every
pulse beating wildly. The law will
be enforced. But what griof-struOkei)
group is this who are wending their
way to the Governor’s mansion 7 They
are making another soul moving ap
peal to the governor. Seel they are
kneeling at his feet and. are pleading
for the first pledge of their early love.
The wild screams of the heart-broken
mother ring out: clear .upon the-air,
and reach even the cell of their be
loved son. There is a voice far loud
er than the terrific wail of that moth
er. Justice thundered to the . officer,
1 Sec thou pardon him not: 1 Bl odd‘ for
blood r Hope is fled; all is lostf 4
Him©, a»ui
With the crowd we hasten to the
prison. The time is come so proceed
to-the place where the horrible trag
edy shall terminate. Behold him !
O God ! save me from a scene so over
whelmingly appalling ! He comes out
of his slimy cell dressed ill the habili
ments of the grave. His mother—
his once beloved' mother—is . there,
waiting to give him one parting em
brace. He kneels down and asks her
to forgive him for breaking her poor
heart becoming a drunkard and con
sequently, a murderer. Weep, ye an
gels over a scene like this! 0 ! youth
of America, be warned by this con
fession. It was rum that did it all. The
Sheriff’ proceeds to the fatal spot
followed by an agitated crowd. After
a short prayer, the criminal ascends
the scaffold ; the rope and cap are ad
justed; a short pause and then the
dull heavy sound falls upon the air,
and the stillness of death comes over
the assembled multitude.
Justice says, “I am satisfied.” The
victim was slain. Rum had done its
work.
City Banks and Interior Banks.
A great deal has been said during
all this discussion, about the hostility
of the city banks to the “interior
banks;” and a most desperate effort
has been made by the Wild Cat de
fenders to excite local and sectional
prejudices, hoping thereby to impose
Upon the people and give the Wild
Cat bills circulation. Indeed, all their
defence of the Wild Cats is made up
principally of these appeals to local
and sectional prejudices. In this con
nection, it may not be improper to in
troduce a comparison between the'his
tory of the Banks of Savannah and
Augusta, and the “interior banks ” of
Georgia for the last twenty years. In
Savannah and Augusta, but one char
tered bank has ever failed in the whole
history of the State, and that paid its
bills. In the last twenty years, the
following “ interior banks ” have
failed, most of them in the last fifteen,
by which the people were rubbed of
millions of dollars:
St. Mary’s Bank, Columbus.
Phcenix Bank of Columbus.
Chattahoochee Rail Road Bank, CV
lumbus.
Bank of Columbus.
bus.
Insurance Bank of Columbus.
Monroe Rail Road Bank, Macon.
Bank of Macon, Macon.
Bank of Ocmulgce.
Bank of Milledgevillc, at Milledge
ville.
Darien Bank.
Western Bank of Georgia, Rome.
Cherokee Insurance Bank, Dalton.
Exchange’Bank of Brunswick.
AYe recommend this brief contrast
to the people for their mature reflec
tion and deliberation. It is a brief but
faithful history of Banks and Bank
ing in Georgia.
This is truly a formidable list of
“interior banks,” and illustrates forci
bly how well founded are the fears of
the Wild Cat Swindling Shops. The
truth is,' alb the efforts of the AVild
Cat defendeis anti advocates to excite
local and sectional prejudices against
the banks of Savannah and Augusta,
proceed from ignorance of the ques
tion or a deliberate purpose to defraud
the people, by giving circulation to the
bills of these swindling shops.
[ Chronicle. J- Sentinel.
Fanny Fern Dag uc ire o typed.
She is full forty, is Fanny. Sports
curls like a girl of seventeen. They
ai*e auburn—poetically so. Has a keen
flashing eye. Nose between Grecian
and Roman, rather thin and rather
good looking. Cheeks with, a good
deal— quite too much—coloring. Come
of rouge. Bad taste, but no business
of ours. Lips well turned, and indi
cative of firmness rather than of—su
gar. Chin handsomely chiseled.—
W hole t countenanee betokens a woman
of spirit and high nature generally.
Form fine. Chest a model. Not sur
passed. Carriage graceful and stately.
Rather tali, and-emphatically genteel.
Pretty foot. Ankle to match. . Hand
small. Likes to show it. Dresses in
the cut-and-dash school. Fond of rib
bons, laces, millinery, &c., generally.
Talks rapidly. Is brilliant and witty,
cutting and lashful. Proud as Lucifer.
Fond of fun. Hates most of her rela
tions. Treats her father and Nat.
most brutally. I Las three as pretty
girls as ever wore curls. Is proud of
them, and justly. Is heartless. Is a
flrt. Lives in clover. . Is worth S2O
- Got it by pen and ink. When
passing the street'takes eight eyes out
of ten. On the whole—wonderful
woman is Fanny.—Scwfon Dispatch.
Modesty.
The last instance of modesty is that
of a young lady who refused to wear
a watch in her bosom, because it had
hands on it.
in". ii—'
Jealousy.
: The last ease'of jealousy is that of a
lady who discarded he? 16ver, because,
in speaking of his voyage, he said life
The House of Baring & Brothers—
The History of the Family.
I will take this .opportunity of say
ing something about the Baring fami
ly, particularly its moit distinguished
members, Sir Francis and his second
son Alexander, as well as the honora
ble chief off the Amsterdam house; Mr.
Henry Hope, whom I have already
named. The last of these, when I
first made his acquaintance, had reach
ed his seventieth year, and was some
what deaf'. He had never been mar
ried. It was be who opened the way
for the autocratic power of Russia,
under the Empress Catherine 11., to
the confidence of the then wealthiest
capitalists in Europe—the Dutch—and
thereby laid the foundation of Rus
sian credit. Always treated by the
Empress with great distinction, he bad
been honored with the gift, from her
own hand, of her portrait-, the full size
of life. This picture occupied the
place of honor in the superb gallery of
paintings fitted up by him in his pal
ace “ t’Huys ten Bosch,” (now a royal
pleasure palace,) which he had built in
the woods of Hariem. Upon liis em
igration to England, he had taken this
splendid gallery, entirely composed of
.cabinet pieces, with him; and I had
the pleasure of seeing it frequently, at
his residence in Cavendish square. To
the tone of a refined gentleman and
man of the .world, he united a certain
affability which spoke to and won eve
ry heart. The whole-souled cordiality
with which lie always met me when I
came to his dwelling in the city, or to
his country seat, Eastsheen," in the
neighborhood of Richmond, has al
ways remained fresh in my memory.
Yet a secret trouble seemed to be
weighing on his mind. This annoy
ance arose from the notorious relations
of his niece, Madame AVilliams Hope,
with a Dutch, officer of Dragoons, by
the name of Dopiff. I had attracted
his confidence, and he one day seized
me by the hand, led me to the window,
and Could hot restrain his tears, as he
told me lie must close the doors of his
house against her, if she ventured to
firing this man with her to England.
The larger part of his considerable
fortune, which he had -bequeathed to
Henry, the eldest son of this niece, and
who died unmarried, passed, at the de
cease of the latter, to Adrian, the sec
ond son, who left no male heirs, but
from whom it descended to Francis,
the third son, born several years after
wards. This third inheritor is the
rich and well known Mr. Hope, now
settled in Paris, and the only surviving
member of that branch of the whole
family.
A close examination into the origin
of the Baring family, traces it back to
a certain Peter Baring, who lived in
the years from 1660 to 1670, at Gronin
gen, in the Batch province at Overys
sel. One of his ancestors, under the
name of Francis Baring, was pastor of
the Lutheran. Church at Bremen, and
in that capacity was called to London,
where, among others, he had a son
named John. The latter, well ac
quainted with cloth making, settled at
Larkbeer, in Devonshire, and there put
up an establishment for the manufac
ture of that article, lie had five chil
dren—four sons/John, Thomas, Fran
cis, Charles, and a daughter cal led Eliz
abeth. Two of the sons, John and
Francis, established themselves under
the firm of John and Francis Baring,
at London, originally with a view of
facilitating their father’s trade in ds
posing of his goods, and so as to be in
a position to import -the raw material
to be required, such as wool, dyestuffs,
&c., themselves, directly from abroad.
Tims was established the house which
—after the withdrawal of the elder
brother John, who retired to Exeter—-
gradually, under the firm name of
Francis Baring & C 0.., and, eventually,
under the firm name of Baring, Broth
er & Cp., rose to the highest rank of
mercantile eminence in the commerce
of the world.
Sir Francis, who, under the Minis
try, of Count Shelburn, father of the
present Marquis of Lansdowne, had
become his intimate friend and adviser
in financial matters, having, in the year
1793, received the title of Baronet, was
already styled by the latter the Prince
of Merchants. He had become some
what feeble,, and'very deaf, when I first
got personally, acquainted with him.
On the occasion of one of my visits
to him, lie told me that lie had kept at
his business for thirty years before he
considered himself entitled to keep an
equipage. Upon another occasion,
when. 1 spoke to him of my project in
establishing myself in New Orleans,-
after the termination of mv mission, lie
remarked: “Usually, my young friend,
that commission: businesses the best in
which the commissions take this direc
tion here he made a motion with
his hands as if'throwing something' to
wards him—“but where the business
goes thus!”—motioning as if throwing
something from him. This amounted
to' saying, in other words, that; receiv
ing'consignments was a better busi
tiesfr than executing commissions.—
Three of his sons, Thomas, Alexander,
and Jlemy, entered the London estab- s
iishment; but tlic first, who was in-
the name of Sir Tho’fnas, and withdrew
from the house, as third also found
occasion to. do at, a 1 titer period. This
latter was passionately • fond of play,
and indulged m it so much that he sev
eral times broke “ Entrepriee Generale
des Jeux,” of Paris. But the sight of
one of the heads of such a house, one
night after the other, in great gambling
establishments, produced a bad effect;
and even if it did not impair his credit,
it in no slight degree damaged his re
spectability. This was felt at head
quarters, and an understanding come
to for his withdrawal from the firm.
Alexander Baring, the second son
of Sir Francis, had received a portion
of his education in Hanau, had then
completed it iu England, and then
commenced his mercantile career in
the house of Messers. Hope, where a
friendship sprung up between him and
Mr. P. C. Labouchere, which led to
the latter’s marriage, at a later period,
with his sister, Maria Baring. AYhen
the Messers. Hope retired to England,
in consequence of the occupation of
Holland by the revolutionary French
army, under Pichegru, and after Alex
der Baring had left the house, he de
termined to visit the United States of
North America. Af his departure his
father confined his advice to two es
pecial recommendations', one of which
was to purchase no uncultivated land,
and the other, not to marry a wife
there; “Because,” said he, “unculti
vated lands can be more readily bought
than sold again; and anew wife is best
suited to the home in which slic was rais
ed, and cannot be formed or trained the
second time.” 110w r ever, Alexander
had not passed one year in the United
States, before lie forgot both branches
of his father’s advice.
Not only did he purchase large
tracts of land in the western part of
the State of Pennsylvania, and lay out
a not inconsiderable capital (SIOO,OOO
at least,) in the then district and now
State of Maine, and that, too, under
the annexed condition of bringing out
a number of settlers thither within a
certain term of years, but also, in 1796,
when just twenty-four years of age, lie
married Anna, the eldest daughter of
Mr. AYilliam Bingham, in Philadel
phia, who was at that time considered
the richest man in the United States,
and was then a member of the Senate.
The inheritance he had to thank her
for, at the death of her father, amount
ed to $900,000. She bore him nine
children, of which seven are still liv
ing. The eldest of .these, called AYil
liam Bingham, after his grandfather,
is the present Lord Ashburton, and
lias reached the age of fifty-three. His
wife is Lady Standioh, and their mar
riage has remained childless. After
his death, liis title, along with tlje
greater part of his fortune, will pass to
the second son, Francis, wffio is mar
ried to a daughter of the Duke Bas
sano, a former State Secretary of Na
poleon. This gentleman usually re
sides at Paris,.and" is .the eldest head of
the London house, in the management
of wdiich, however, he seldom takes
any active part. He has two sons.
The favorite, from the first, of his fa
ther and mother, both title and fortune
.will pass entirely, according to their
Ayishes, into the hands of him who in
their eyes, deserves the preference.
Richard HI. and the Bench-leg*
ged Ficc.
Cometh into into our sanctum our
friend Robert the Merry, and leaving
dignity and all that behind, telleth us
the following little incident of his
younger years. We let him speak :
“ When I was at college, years ago,
there came to Athens, [Georgia,] a
company of strolling players, very vag
abondisli, and by general reputation
wanting especially in the. quadities of
sobriety and chastity. They perform
ed in a long room, at one end of which
something remotely resembling scene
ry was placed. They had foot-lights,
too; indeed the tallow candles that
constituted that feature, were in some
instances more than a foot long.
“ The play was Richard the Third.
Many of the students attended. . I sat
very close to the foot lights, and so did
a “drinking” fellow named Burleson,
that would da any thing for a dimp or
two. Ife had his bench-legged fice
with him, asleep at his feet. The dog
hacl a very large, heavy body, and
legs proporlioned like a dinner pot—
you’ve seen such.
“The play dragged and dragged and
dragged oh, to the infinite annoyance
of the students who were keen for the
larch. At length the strapping, awk
ward.fellow who.‘/did” Richard, ex
tended himself upon the stage to die ;
but he was more tenacious of life than
any stage hero I ever saw. Sis con
vulsions and contortions were horri
ble, and most unnecessarily prolonged,
Wishing to end the confounded show,
I whispered to Burleson, “throw your
fice. on that fellow, arid I’ll give you a
dollar.” No sooner said than done.-
Seizing the ftfte by his legs, Burleson
hurled him at the rather, protuberant
abdornen of the gasping monarch, with
so true an aim as to produce a tre
mendous squelch arid grunt from the
.player, and an indescribablehowi-frorn
the nee ** w &*■ > -
v “The house was electrified ! So
3*32 wm. mm sms 9
$2.00 A YEAH, IN ADVANCE.
NUMBER G.
was Richard the Third! Up rose he
and drew his sword, and swore he
could “do for” tie man that hit
him with the dog! The audience roar
ed and roared again, while the indig
nant actor stood with uplifted sword
in one hand, the other palm soothing
his stricken paunch!
“ ‘Hello, you play-actor feller!’ shout'
ed old Abram Lunsford, ‘we give fifty
cents a piece to see you die that*, and
if you don’t lay right down thar, an’
doit accordin to Hunter, I’ll have ms
money back, fice or no fice /’
“It is needless to say that all was
farce after that. But T give you my
word, that in my mind Richard the
Third is inseparably associated with a
stump-tailed, bench-legged lico!”
[Mont. Mail
Hydraulic Cements.
There are quite a number of natur
al hydraulic limestones—experiment
alone is the true test of their quality—?
but artificial hydraulic cement can be
made, and is made, and used extensive
ly in many countries. Slacked lime,
when mixed with a certain proportion
of' clay, then burning this, and reduc
ing it afterwards to powder in a grind
ing mill, makes an excellent hydraulic
mortar, both portable and convenient
for use, by simply mixing it with cold
water until it acquires a proper consist
ence, to be applied with the trowel
like common mortar. About twenty
four parts of dry clay are mixed with
about eighty parts of pure rich lime,
to make this cement. Another kind
is made by mixing one. hundred and
forty parts of chalk, with twenty parts,
by measure, of clay, and then reduc
ing the whole to a paste, by grinding
them together in a pug mill. This
latter hydraulic cement is manufactur
ed in great quantities in Paris. The
chalk is divided into pieces about the
size of a man’s hand, and mixed with
clay in the proportion of four of the
former to two of the latter, and ground
in a mill, with a plentiful supply of
water. The liquid mixture, as it is
ground, is allowed to flow over a lip of
the mill, and run into four or five
troughs placed at succussive differences
of level, where the matter held in sus
pension by the water is deposited. The
water is run off these troughs alternate
ly, and the sediment is moulded into
small blocks, and allowed to dry in the
air on platforms, until they have at
tained to the dryness of freshly quar
ried limestone. They are then put in
to a kiln and burnt like lime, then
ground into powder, in which state it
is ready to be used as has been describ
ed. The famous Portland Cement of
England is made in this manner, ex
cepting that the burning is conducted
further than in the case of Paris ce
ment, the contents of the kiln being
heated to vitrification Great care
must be exercised in the burning and
grinding of these materials.
Hydraulic cement can also be made
in a mOre simple manner (but it is not
quite so good) by mixing two. parts of
well burned lime, slacked in powder,
with one of brick dust, and mixing
them well together into mortar with
cold water. The brick for this pur
pose should be pounded and passed
through a fine sieve.
Hydraulic cement can be made of a
putty composed of linseed oil mixed
with fresh slacked lime, into which Is
stirred some coarse cotton; this is sim
ply a cheap substitute for white lead,
and is principally used for cementing
the joints of pipes laid under-ground,
but is also very excellent for the outer
coating of water cisterns. —Scientific
j American.
Read and You Will Know.
“ Sir William Jones,” says Arvine’s
Cyclopedia of Anecdotes, “ when a
mere child was very inquisitive. His
mother was a woman of great intelli
gence, and he would apply to her for the
information which he desired ; but
her constant reply was, “ Read and
you will know.” This gave him a
passion for books, which was one of
the principal means„ of making him
what he was.”
Sir William Jones became one of
the greatest scholars of any age or
country. He obtairied a knowledge of
twenty-eight different languages. And
it was this eminent scholar who thus
spoke of the Bible' ■
“ I have carefully and regularly
perused the Scriptures ; and, am of
opinion that this volume, independent
of its divine origin; contains more sub
limity, purer morality, more impor
tant history, and finer strains of elo
quence,. than can be obtained from all
other books, in 'whatever language
written.”
This great man’s habit of reading is
worthy the imitation of the young,
and his habit of reading and; revering
the Scriptures is worthy the imitation
of all. '.•
True.
Give a man brains snd riches, and
he is a king.- Give him brains without
riches, and he is'a slave. Give Mm
richris witlfouf drama, and he is £
•fool. * m