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■ ■ • - 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