North Carolina Newspapers

$ A SOUTHERI FAIILY NEWSPAPER NEUTRAL L POLITICS. EDITORS. TERMS: TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM, W WILLIAM .D.'COOKE,) W01I TO Jli W iliffl OF UninL-- -:'IIiiTIDDL: -: IDRRl IMC4TI0H AfiniCULTHSE, B IMKB, ETC m as 4! s-4 ? - -. K CALVIN .11;. WILEY, 2: , ; I $; 9. . i- i. m jfi.lt : - . ti. , m 1 1 1 1 .1 - s I "1 W: Iff II; r 'it-: vol r. ARTICLES. ' ' 4 From Harper's Magazine. T HE CUES E OF GOLD: ADBEAM. . 1 "f CMl rrape scarf' and hat-band which, in the character of 3 ! -t-tcuiet mourner, ne iiau uiai ua-y-wuni at, iny iuue,rai I 'of fris. wife, as he entered one of the apart iricnts at 1' 1 . i4i crfnr,L and nioodilv sought a scat- ' The rooih M- wa$ -spaciojts and jilled with every t .i ro" 'f ' : t . - .p. : t . luxury which .! wealth omld. procure or ingenuity invent to add to 13: jtsoointort ; or its ornament. lietures,; mirrors, 1S sillvon curtaiiisj and warm carpets ; statues in mar-' ble and bronze ; were scattered iibot(t in rich profit-" I' tfioiai jfl the saloon, and its owrier,-in the deep mourn- J ll a inirpf ii widower, sat there grieving truW think-' '.'' figdeoply but not, ias might have leen supposed, 1 ? '-rtiiftheiadv wlio had that day been laid in thei' vault f :f-f - Jk arilorrior li':Vvas' regretting the; 'loss kf'; I f f aTiUicli brighter spirit than' ever lived ih her pae J I f i ; pry'ii'l face, or hi tta..eo!djiess of -her calm blue eye,'i 'X I" JNioVdaritLindsay was apparently a niariof past lit- ! - Ml tv. his hahvAta streaked with" gray, though its dark ' l5t:i: still curie-it thickly .round' his head ; he bore I 4:'-iijhjs facoHlie marks, of mofe than common beauty,- but tune had. left its traces there, in tld furrows on "1usbroy ;" and even, more deeply than . time, care., ; 4sa .young man, he had been, very handsome, ric'li- . U dowed-W "iiatw're.'.witli ;allXhise "graces which ";to3i often inafeiii.tive onlv -tck kill --"but fortune, III : hr? generous, had gitted "him. but with tUc heritage ': jil ;;of.fi giod name--nothing niore and his -early lite v;I had been passed in an attempt, by his own uieaiis, Uii'f to irtmedy the slight she' had put upMi him at his rMtfi birth. . .'The'.bbk'ct ot'his ambition was trained had - bee u" now for Sjotne years : he was wealthy, the p.os t 'K"'sM)rvof all the fair lanasstret.ched out before him' as lar as his ej'e could reach, and a rent-roll not un- I''ojrthy of ne ui a higher station in lite. Looked r-up 19 t.y. .tiie poor or . jaiigioru. as tlie lord ot ttie niimor. x-ourted bv his euuals as a 'man of-some cij(nse'jn;nce- v as. lie happy See" the 1 mes so de'i)ly .iiiarked on his countenance, and listen to thii siirh. which seeins to break 'from the bottom of Ins! hvUrU "ii'oTi will find in theni an answer. . i' Howr bngttly the sun shines in through the ifiridows'of the room, gilding all around with its own ramanee,: and giving lite and "gut to the very statues ! Jt shines even on his head, but faifs iaVwarming las Iwspm ; :'it annoys him, uncpn gejiial as it Ws with jus sad thaughts,. and he rises '.ah; piiUs 'ddvrptblinl, and then restlessly wan--dt;rs forth into tlu1. bpe'n air. . The day is close, for" suiuuht is still at iff height, and Mordant Lindsay seeks the shade of 'a group" of trees and lies down, -:iud presently he bleeps, and tliAsun (its; it declines) ; ihrjo'ws its,."liadow on 'nearer, objects ; and now g. it tests on him',. at hi as it hovers there, takes the I furih jof that cjtmijyihion of his childhood", who for ldftgjWitti a purenacity ho could not account for, secine4 .ever avoiding his path, ami Hying from' ; Iiim when most anxiously' pursued ; And 1 sees , agah those scenes of his past life before him diroly Vpictured throuirli,!;t(ie vista of' many years, and .his drtini runs-thus : ''.' : . ' - . .' die is a ciiild at phtV, ; younjr and" innocent, as VA'cIt untiiinted byyordly ambition, and standing by f Vhiiu js a-beiutifiil tigUre,w"itii long golden hair very 1 1 bright, arid -shining' like spiwl glass or the rays of i .the sumuTer sun. " Her eyes seem born for hutgh- :..tcr, so cleVir, so mirthful," so lull of joy, and her I ' spotless robe flows around lier, making everything I .'- it ponies in contact w ith graceful as itself ;' and she Ij, has wings, for Happiness ik fickle and flies'away,' f .soisooi as inan.; proves false to himself and un 4 worthy of hfr. b-he johis the child in his gambols V:. and hand 1. liand with, him "sports beside Ahjin, fathering the same flowers that, he gathers, loo k insr.' Ihrough diis smiUn-r eves as she echoes I his ' "happy laughter ; and then over meadow, Ipast ditches; and thvoiigh tangled busliei, in full chase -after ix butterfly. "lnrthe eagerness of the sport he . falls, And the gaudy insect (ail uncoheious xf being the originator of so ,many conrlicting hopes and fears) flutters onward in full enjoymc-ut of the-sun and- the light, and soon it'is too far off to renew the'ehase. . 1 ears, like dewdrops, till the child's eyes, i and he looks around in vain for bis companion of tire day. 7 ; Th gnus isjiot so green without" her ; ieven: the Wrd's spiig is discordant, and, tired, he sadly Wends' his way towards home. " Oh, dear rlnanitna'" ;he-exclaims, brightening up, as, hej sees liiiy mother coming towanL liiui, ami running to her fmds'a ready sympathy, in his disappointment as she clasps her Iwjy to 'lier bosom arid dries his little tearful face, closely pressing him to a heart : whose best ; diope's. are centreil in his well-being. . Happiness is in her arms, and he feels her warm breath' iipahrhis cheeks- as. she kisses and fondles - hil and ahon he is cheerful ;is he was, for his V I'laymateof the day, now' returned with; his .owiv l gooddimnor, accompanies him. for all the hours he if will encourage.- her' t6 Vernaiii : sometimes hidiiig l ;:witliin.the"purple fiojxjk of the scented -violet,' or j noildingr-frTiiii beneath the veLIow cups of the cows lip, rsjthe breeze sentls her laden with perfume back to hikn"affitin. Atitll ti such childish play and m- liocent enjoyment time; te rolls on, itntil the child has j reaehl Tiis, ninth year, alkl 'becomes the subject - ' I 11.... . '- . J I ,-ana lawun slave; of all the rules" m. Murray s Gwin I ;inar, and those who instill them in the. youthful f rvjiiiiud, -tulthen the bov finds his early friend (al- thouurri ready at all tmio t:sJi-iiv. hU hrnr of ra- ation) very shy and distant; w hen, 'studies, arc ficult.or lessons-toti. l-eeilho- jiwav -itil the -.task' is ,acnq.Hsliea ; but crick!etind bat -and ball fr invariably summon hor, ami theh she is bright and ..kind as- of yore,- contend to forget old quarrels in present enjoyment ; an4l :Vs Mrfrxlaiit dreamed, he sighed, m his sleep, anct the shadow of Happiitess -1. went still furfher ;oli, as if frighiened by his grief. ... The picture changes : and now more than twen ty years are past since tJMme wheu'the boy first saw the light, and he iTsittirig iii the room of a j little cottage- 'The glass door leading to the crir- den is open, and the flowers clustering in at the windows.'; Xlie.lovt'liues of the child has flown, it is true, but in its place a fond mother gazes on the form 'of a s6n whose, every feature is calculated to inspire love. The short dark curls are parted from ,otf his sunburnt orehead, and the bright hazel eyes j (in which merriment predoniitiates) glance quickly towards the idoor, as' if expecting some one. The.' book he has been pretending to read lies idly on his lap, and bendin his head uporf his hand, his I - eyes half shut in the earnestness of his reverie, he I does not hear the light footstep Ayhich presently IIALEI comes stealing Softly behind him. . The tiew-comer is a young and pretty girl, with a pale Madonna- looking face, serioushjoughitful beyond her yeajs. cue may be seventeen or eighteen, not more. Her hands have been busy with the flower in the gar den, and now, as she comes up behind the youth. she plucky the leaver from off a rose-bud, and. drops. upward, and then (his arms around her slight forrii) he kisses her fondly and often. And llappiness clings ilbout them, and nestles closely by:"their side as if jealous of being separated from either, amf they were happy in tlieir young love. 'How hap py Tearing for naught besides, thinking of no fur tune, but in each other taking no account of time ' so-rong as . they should be. together, contented to receive the evils of life with the good, and, to sutler side-by side (if Odd willed it) sooner than be parted. They .were engaged to. - be married. At prese it, neither possesed sufficient to live comfortablv upon, aui nicy imiH iiim. iioie : anci sue ctlu liope,. and ws" reconciled almost to his departtpre, whil h must goon take place, for he ha? been studying a barrister, and .will leave his mother's house find a. solitary home in a baclicloVs chambers or to in ..London. Mordant saw -himself .(as he had befen then) sitting with lira hrst love in that okl famil ar i)lace, her hand clasped in his, her fair hair falli 1ST ajuuim er, - anu vamng me lace sue inu upon shoulder, and even more vividly still, the reme berance of that llappiness which had ever been '11. l- ! - ii i i i i lis m- it- Jtenda&t on the f denfs of thq'd tendaftt on 'them' then,-.when the most" trivial inci iv were turned into matters of iln- portance, coljrcd and embeli&red as tlieV were by love. He saw Jiimself in. possession of the reality, which, alas ! he had thrown away for the shadow of it, and he longed for ihe recovery of those past years 'which had been so unprofitably spent, in a vain attempt at regaining it: ' The girl still sat by hint ; they did hot seem to speak, and throughout' that long suuinier afternoon still "they sat, she pull ing the flowers (so lately gathered) in pieces, and lie paving with the riglets of frer hairi And now the door opens, and his mother enters, older by many years than When she hist appeared' to hi ni, but still the same kind smile and earnest look' of afiection as -she-turns toward her son. Her hand is laid upon his arm (as he rises to meet her,) and her soft voice utters his name, coupled with endear-', meut. " Mordant, dearest, Edith and myself wish to walk, if you will accompany us ?" " Certainly," is the reply,, and the three set out, and the dreamer, watched their fast receding form down a shady lane spejrtTjve view had vanished, but quickly to be re placejl by another. 'v' Again he sees the same youth, this time impa tiently walking up anddown a close, dismal room. The furniture is smoke-dried and dusty, once red, 'now "of a' dark ambiguous color. . The sofa is of horse-hair, shiningj (almost white in places) from constant fiction, yn the mantlepiece hangs ajook-ing-glass, the frame wrapped round with yellow gauze to protect jt from curt, and here and there' a tly-catcher, suspended from the ceiling, annoys the ruinate of . the xJusky rom by its constant motion. It is a .lodging-house, ready furnished, and the young man, who has not left his home many months is not yet accustomed to the change, and he is wea ried and 'unhappy. He has just been writing" to Edith, and the thought of her. causes him uneasi ness ; he is longing to, be with her again. . Rest lessly he paces up. and down the narrow chamber, unwilling to resume studies, by the mastery of. whicji lie could alone hope to" be with her again,' until a knock ' at the hall-door makes him pause and sit down ; another knock, (as if the visitor did not bare to be kt-pt waiting.) Mordant knew what ; was coming he remembered it all, and felt no sur priseat seeing in his dream a friend (now long since deijtd) enter the apartment, with tiie exclama tion of " What, Lindsay ! all alone? I had ex pected to find you out, I was kept jo long knock ing at your-door.' ' How are you, old fellow f and Charles Vernon threw himself into'a'chair. " We are all going to the play," continued he, f' and a supper afterward. You know Leclerque ?'he will be :one of the party witf you come ?'! and Vernon waited, for an answer. Theone addressed replied , in' the affirmative, and Mordant saw (with a shud der) the same; figure which had lured dmn ton in t Pleasure to seek lost Happiness, now tempting the youth before him. The two were so like eah other in outward appearance, that he wondered not1 that he too was deceivedj and followed her with -even more ' eagerness than, he had ever done her inbre --retiring sister. And then with that gay crea ture ever in mind, Mordant saw the young man ledion-i'rom one-place of amusement to another from supper and wine to dice-and a, gambling-table -until ruin stared him in the face and that mind, which had onfce been pure and Untarnished, was fast becoming defaced by a. too close' connection' witlrvice. . ,' Mordant Was wiser now, and he .saw how flimsy and unreal this figure of Pleasure appeared how her gold was . tinsel, and her laughter but the hol low echo of a forced merriment unlike his own once possessed Happiness, whose treasures were those of a contented spirit w hose gayety proceed: edfrom art innocent heart and untroubled consci- I enee'.- Strange that he should have been so blinded I . . . . ...... A .1 .I V to her beauties, and so -unmindful- of the otlier s defects ; but so it had been. ' Mordant sympathiz ed with the young man as he watched him running headlonr toward his own misery but the scene continued before him he had no power to prevent if and now the last stake is to ber played. On that throw of' the dice rests the ruin1 of the small property" he had inherited from his father. It is lost ! and lie beggared of the little5 he could -call his own ; and forth from the hell (in which he has been passing the night)-rushes into' the.strcet. It wants but "one stroke to complete; the wreck of heart as w elt -as of fortune, and that stroke is not long in coming. ' Miserable, he returned to his lodgings, and alone he thought of his position. "He thought of Edith. -" Love in a cottage, even could I dy my own means regain -what I have lost Pshaw ! the thing is ridiculous. Without money there cannot be Happiness for her or for me." A few months had sadly changed hi m, who "before saw it only in her society But now the Goddess of his fan cy stands before him her golden curls of the preci ous metal he covets her eyes receiving their bright ness from its lustre, and in his heart a new feeling asserts superiority, and he wishes to be rich. With money to meet every want he will command her presence not sue for it ; and Mordant remember ed; how, in pursuance of this ambition gradually Gil, KORTH C A ROLIX cooling toward her, he had at last broken OtT bis engagement with Edith how for some yearsj dfty and night had seen him toiling at his profession, ever with the sarde object in view, and how'sl last he had married aj woman in every Mray what he desired r-rich in gold and lands and wrjrldly possessions, - but poor in heart cooipared r?ih Efliiit1 :V" " '''uyn'''Ct-?gb'.' -.I."' var". Tlie crowd jostle each other to get a nearerview of the bride as she passes (leaning on her father's arm) .from tin carriage to the church door. The bridegroom is waiting for her, and now joins her, and .they kneel side by side at the altar. Mordant remembers his wedding :day. '. lie is not happy, notwithstanding the feeling of gratified pride he ex periences as he places the ring upon the fair hand ofj Lady Blanche. No emotion of a very deep kind tinges her cheek : she is calm and cold through out the ceremony1. " She admires Mordant Lindsay very much ; ,he was of a good family, so was she ; he very handsome and young, and she past thirty. Matches more incongruous have been, made,' and with less apparent reason, -and... this needs no far ther explanation bn her side. They "are married now, and about to- leave , the church. The young man turnsas he passes out (amidst the congratu lations of his friends,) attracted by scarcely sup pressed sobs ; but the cloaked figure from whom they proceed does not move, and he recognizes her not. It is Lditli and Mordant, as he gazes on the sees Happiness' standing afar off, scene before himj afraid to approach too near to any one of the party, but still keeping her eyes fixed on the pale young mourner at that) bridal, who, bowed down with grief, sat there until the clock warned her to go, as the doors were being closed. The married pair (after, a month spent abroad) settles down at' Lang ford ; and the husband was he happy now ? No, not yet- but expecting to be from day to day, hop ing that time would alter for the better what was wanting to the happiness of his home ; but time tlew on, and, regardless of his hopes, left him the same disappointed man that it found him disap pointed in his wife, in his expectations of children feeling a void m his' heart (which money was in sufficient to supply. The drama was drawing to a cloe ; Mordant felt that the present time had ar rived. His wife: was dead, and he in possession of everything which had been hers, but still an anxi ous, unsatisfied' "blind prevented all enjoyment of life ; but yet one more scene, and this time Mor dant was puzzled,1 for he did not recognize either the place or the fetors. , , On a bed on one side was stretched the figure oi a young ..woman.! Her features were so drawn and sharpened by illness, that he could not recall them to his mind, although he had an idea that he ought .to know her facet She was very pale, and the heat seemed to oppress her, for in a languid voice she begged the lady (who was sitting by her side) to open the window. She rose to do so, and" when Mordant saw that the scenerv beyond was not Eng lish, for hedges j of myrtle arid scarlet geranium grew around in profusion,-and the odor of orange flojvers came, thickly into the chamber of the dying gij-1. Jlaising herself with difficulty, she called to her companion; and then she said " I know I shall not now get better ; II feel I am dying, and 1 am ' glad of it. My lite lias been a living death to riie for some years! When I am dead I would wish to be buried in England not here not in this place, w hich has proved a grave to' so many of my counts-men. Let me find my last resting-place, dearest mother, at home, in our own little ehurch-vard." , iThe lady wept as she promised her child to ful fill her last request, and Mordant saw that Happi ness had flown from the bed (around which she had been hovering for some minutes) straight up to heaven, to awiit there' the spirit of the broken hearted girl, wh,o was, breathing her last under the clear and sunny sky of Madeira. ' i Mordant shuddered as he awoke, for he had been asleep for sometime, and the evening "was. clos'ing in, as he rose from tlie damp grass. - It "was to-a lonely hearth that he returned, and during the long night which followed, as he thought of his dream and of an ill-spent lite,, he resolved to revisit his early home, in the hope, that amidst old scenes he might-bring back the days when he was happy. Was Edith still alive 1 He knew not. lie had heard she had gone abroad : site might be' there still. He did riot confess it-to himself, but it was Edith'of whom he thought most : and it was the hope , of again seeing her which induced him to take a donsr iouruev ,to the place where he had been born. The bells were ringing for some merry making as Mordant. Lindsay left his travelling car riage, to walk up the one street of which Bower's Gilford boasted, He must go through the church yard to "gain the new- inn, and passing (by one of the- inhabitant s directions) through the turnstile, he soon found himself amidst the memorials of it dead. Mordant, as be nensivelv walked aloii"". read the names' of tlfose, whose virtues 'were re- corded on. their p-rave-stones. and as he read, re fleeted. j" And, now he stops, for it is a well-known name which -attracts his attention, and as lie parts the Veeds which have grown high over that grave, he ees inscribed on the broken pillar which marks the spot, ."Edith Graham, who died at Madeira, aged 21.', And Mordant, as he looks, sinks down upon the grass, and sheds . the first tears which for years have been wept by him, and in sorrow of heart, when too late, acknowledges that it is not money or gratified ambition which brings happiness in this world, but a contented and cheerful mind ; and from that lonely grave' he leaves, an altered man, and a better one. The Losdos Quarterly presents a new can didate for the authorship of Junius, in tlie person of Thomas Lyttleton, son of the first London Lyttleton, who was 24 years old when the Letters first com menced, and who entered Parliament aud evinced .wonderful abilities, seven years after. The Re- viewer first demolishes the "claims preferred on be half of Sir Philip Francis, and then shows that in moral 'character, intellectual abilities,' party affini ties,, personal Relations, and in the general tpne of his character Lord Lyttleton was precisely the per son upon whom the suspicion of tie authorship of " Junius" should justly fall. His speeches are also quoted" to show an identity of general sentiment and of studies with, the Letters, and a variety of coincident phrases, similes, allusions, fcc, is colla ted. The article is long, and written with ability. It certainly makes out a very strong case. V. Y. Times. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY A HEW-ENGLAKD SQUIRE. Frank has a grandfather; living in the country, a gooid specimen of the old-fashioned New-England farmer And go where cbo will, the world over I know of no race of men, who taken together, possess more integrity, more: intelligence, and more of comfort, f. bjcli go to., make "aome daa'araBj" than tlie New-England fanners.' ? They are not brilliant, nor r are they highly re fined ; they know nothing "of arts, "histrionic or dramatic ; they know only so much of older nations as their histories and newspapers S&ch them; in the fashionable world they hold no place ; but in energy, in industry, in hardy virtue, in substantial knowledge, and in manly independence," they make up a race, that is hard to be matched The French peasantry are, hi all the essentials .of intelligence, and sterling worth, infants, compar ed with them : and the farmers of England are either the merest jockeys in: grain, with few ideas beyond their sacks, samples, and market-day ; or, with added cultivation, lose their independence in a subserviency to some neighbor patron of rank. ; and superior intelligence teaches them no lesson so quickly, as that their brethren of the glebe are une qual to them, and are to be left to their cattle and the goad. "; . ' There are English farmers indeed, who are men in earnest, who read the papers, and who keep the current of the year's intelligence ; but such men are the exceptions. In New-England, with the school upori every third hill-side, and the self-regulating, free-acting church, to watch every valley with week-day quiet, and to wake every valley with Sabbath sound, the men become, as' a class, both intelligent, and honest afttors, who would make again, as they have made1 before, a terrible army of defence ; and who would find reasons for their actions, as strong as their armies. Frank's grandfather has 5 silver hair, but is still hale, erect, and strong. ,IIis dress is homely, but neat. Heing a thorough-going Protectionist, he has no fancy for the gew-gaws of foreign importa tion, and makes it a point to appear always in the village church, and on all great occasions, in a so , ber suit of homespun. He has no pride of appear ance, and he needs none. He is known as a Squire, throughout the township ; and no important meas ure can pass the board of select-men without the Squire's approval : and this, from no blind snbser, viencv to his; opinion, beeause his farm is larire- xhu ne is' recKdnea lore; handed," but because there is a confidence in his judgment. He is jealous of none of the prerogatives of the country parson, or of the school-master, or of the village doctor; and although the latter is a testy politician of the opposite party, it does not at all impai r the. Squire's faith in his calomel :-he suffers all his Radicalism, with the same equanimity that he suffers his rhubarb. 1 Tlie day-laborers of the neighborhood, and the small farmers consider the Squire's note of hand for their savings, better than the best bonds ol city origin; and they seek hisdvice is ali.matters of litigation. He i3 a Justice of the Peace, as the title of Squire in a New-England village implies ; and many are the country courts that you peep up on, with Frank, from the door of the great dining room. " ,The defendant always seems to you, in these im portant cases especially if his beard is rather long, an extraordinary ruffian ; to whom; Jack Shep pard "would have been a comparatively innocent boy. You watch curiously the old gentleman, sit ting in his big arm chair, with his spectacles in their silver case at his elbow, and his snuff box in hand, listening attentively to some grievous com-, plaint ; you see him ponder deeply with a pinch of snuff to aid his judgment and you listen with intense admiration, as he gives a lond preparatory "Ahem," and clears away the intricacies of thj case with a sweep of that strong practicaj sense, which distinguishes the New-England farrher, getting at the very hinge of the matter, without any consciousness .of his own precision, and satis fying the defendant by the clearness of his talk, as much as by the leniency of his judgment. . His lands lie along those swelling hills which in southern1 New-England, carry the chain of the White and Green Mountains, in gentle undulations, to the borders of the sea. I He farms some fifteen hundred acres," suitably divided," as the old school agriculturists say, into " wood-land, pasture, and tillage." The farm-house, a large irregularly built mansion of wood, stands upon a shelf of the hills looking southward, and is shaded by century old oaks. The-barns arid out-buildings are group ed in a brown phalanx, a little to jthe northward of the dwelling. Between thein a high timber gate opens upon the scattered pasture lands of the hills : opposite to this and across the farm-yard, t . which is the loungihgplace of scores of red-necked j turkeys, and of matronly j hens, clucking to their callow brood, another gate of similar pretensions opens upon the wide meadow land, which rolls with a heavy "ground swell," along the valley of a mountain river. A veteran oak stands sentinel at the brown meadow-gate, its trunk all scarred with the ruthless cuts of new-ground .axes, and the limbs garnished in Summer time, -with the crooked snathes of murderous-looking scythes. The high-road passes a stone's throw away ; but there is little 44 travel " to be seen ; and every chance passer will inevitably corne under the range of the kitchen windows, and be studied carefully by the eyes of the stout dairy-maid to say noth ing of the stalwart Indian cook. This last, you cannot but admire as a type of that noble old race, among whom, your boyish fancy has woven so many stories otf romance. V ou wonder how she must regard the white interlopers upon her owjq soil ; and you think that she tole rates the Squire's farming privileges with more modesty than you would suppose. You learn, however, that she Pays very little regard to white - j rights, when they conflict with her own ; and further learn, to your deep regret, that your prin cess of the old tribe, is sadly addicted to cider drinking and having heard her -once or twice, with a very indistinct 44 Goo-er n;ight Sq-qiiare," upon her lips- your - dreaims about her grow very tame. . h . j The Squire, like all very sensible men, has his hobbies, and peculiarities. He ' has a great con tempt, for instance, for all paper money, and ima gines banks to be corporative, societies, skilfully contrived for the legal plunder of fhe community. He keeps a supply of silver and gold by him, in 14, 1352. the foot of an old stocking ; and seems to have great confidence in the vtdue of Spanish milled dollars. lie; has no kind of patience with the new doctrines of farming. Liebeg, and all tlie rest, be sets down as mere theorists ; and has far more respect for the contents of his barn yard, than for all the guana deposits in , the world. Scientific farming. fiSB?m,M ...farwint?, majr do rert well, he says 4 to keep idle foung feTTows' ftxmi tlie city out of mischief.; but as for real, effective management, there's nothing like the old stock of menj who ran barefoot until thev were ten, and who count the hard winters by their frozen toes.' And he is fond of quoting in this connection, the only quotation by-the-by, that the old gentleman ever i makes that couplet of Poor Richard : , " He that by the plow would thrive, Himself must. cither hold or drive.': The Squire has been in his day, connected more j or less -intimately with Turnpike enterprise, which the Kailroads of the, day have thrown sadly into the background ; and be reflects often, ini a melan choly way,' upon the old times when a man could travel in' his own carriage quietly across the coun try, without being frightened with the clatter of an engine ; and when Turnpike stock paid wholesome yearly dividends of six per cent. Ik Marvel. F. R. S. Not many years since there flourished in one of the Southern' cities, on the Atlantic coast, a cer tain original, eccentric individual, whose sole oc cupation was the "pursuit of the oyster trade, of course, under difficulties. It was on a grand scale, and " Old Shell," as he Was nicknamed, w as a prime favorite with all - the young bucks, oyster ing blades and fast men about town. He was a passionate admirer of oysters in every shape. His food was almost exclusively oysters. He bet on oysters, lie studied oysters. In fine, he was emphatically- an oyster-inan. . "Old Shell," one summer, took it intoi his head that a trip to the North :Would be of advantage U his health, moral and. physical. To'icsalve to do anything and to do it, were with him one and the same thing. He went ! On arriving in New York he put up at a fashion- j able hotel ; and as he was a tall, rme looking man, dressed well, and spent his money freely, he soon became almost as much a lavorite m uie ixorm as ; , ... -v- ., he was in the South. Wa tUincr i.tovit liim, llOwcVfcr, th At puzzled every one. Vn the hotel book-of arrivals his name was entered in full with the , following capital letters, in large sprawling hand, attached : F. R. S. On his cards the same , mysterious letters appeared : " Mr. So-and-So, of such a city, F. R. S." He never would explain their meaning ; aid great, of course, was the small talk and chit-chat about it. The "gossip market " rose above par in the course of three days. One morning a newly come English gentlemr.n, of middle age and grave aspect, was looking over the list of arrivals.. He was struck by the mys terious letters as every one else had been. " F.'li. S." muttered he ; " it can't be ! Yet there the letters are. Who. would have tIiourht it r the clerk was called up .and requested to explain. He knew nothing more than- that one of the boarders and lodgers had put his name down with that handle attached. " Show him to me ! said the Liifrhsh- man eagerly. " There he goes now, sir !" said the j clerk, pointing to our hero. "" f ThA tiPYt mnmpnt '.'Old SKpIP fplt. l.U l.nnd i grasped by another hand, whilst his arm went j through a rapid arid vigorous motion, familiarly; I known as the " pump handle action." It was the Englishman ; his lace beaming with cordiality. " Delighted to meet you, sir. Had not the slight est idea of seeing one of our society on this side of the water ! When were you a member ? My memory is so defective- " "Member of what?"1 said " Old Shell," half surprised, half angry. " Oh, don't be so modest, my dear' sir!" t" Modest, the deuce ! What society f " No bashfulness, now ! You are a Fellow, I know." " Blast my buttons, stranger!" -exclaimed "Shell," thoroughly indig nant ; " do you call me a fellow ?" " Fellow . of the Royal Society,, sir. You mistake my meaning. Fellow of the Royal Society of London !" " I'm no Londoner, man ; I came from down South, I do ! I am an oysterraan, am !" " Why,what on earth does F. R. S. mean then, attached to your name? ' said the astonished Englishman, science and sur prise beaming from his countenance. " Well,strang erj I don't" care if I do fell you I You see, I like oysters, I do; and F. R. S. means adzackly nothing J more nor less than Juried, Roasted and Steteedf1 We do not think this veracious anecdote has ever been published lefore. JV. O. Pic. Mother of' Pearl. Mother of Pearl is the hard, silvery, brilliant internal layer of several kind of shells, particularly oysters, which is often variegated with changing purple and azure colors. The large oysters of the Indian seas alone secrete this coat of sufficient thickness to rendtr their shells available to the purposes of manufacture. The genus of shell-fish called Pentadince furnishes j the finest of pearls, as well as mother of pearl ; it is found in greater perfection round the coast of Ceylon, near Ormous, in the Persian Gulf, at Cape Comorin, and among some of the Australian seas. The brilliant hues of mother of pearl do not depend upon the nature of the substance, but upon its structure. The miscroscopie wrinkles or furrows which run across the surface of every slice act up .. on the reflected light in such a way as to produce the chromatic enect. fcir Jiavid urewster has shown that if we take, with very fine black sealing wax, or with the fusible alloy of D'Arect, an im pression of mother of pearl, it will possess the iridescent appearance. Mother of pearl is very delicate to work; but it may be fashioned by saws, files, and drils, with the aid sometimes of a corro-i sive acid, such as the diluted sulphuric or muriatic; and it is polished by colcothars. Thebe is but one way of securing universal equality to man, and that is to-regand every honest employment as honorable ; and then for eery man to learn, in whatsoever state he may be, therewith to be content, to fulfill with strict fidelity the duties of his station, aud to make every condition a post of honor. frrrr trifl 1 a w Department, to prepare the Mississippi, now at our naval station, for sea, as soon as possible. - NO. 11. GREAT RESULTS IN INDIA. ; - In the Calcutta Jieview is a synopsis of the pre sent position of t the missionary work ih India and the island of Ceylon, at once so gratifying and en couraging, that we gather the following statements. These results are certainly iar beyond what we ever suspected them to have been, and ought to give heart to those now laboring for the regenerat- . "At the close of 1850, fifty 'yeftet the mod-" era English and American Societies had begun their latorsHn Hindtistau, and tlrirty yearn siiico they have been carried on in full efficiency, tlie stations; at which the Gosjiiel is preached in India and- Ceylon, are two hundred and six in mimber; and engage the services of four hundred mission aries, belonging to twenty-two missionary societ ies. Of these missionaries, twenty-two are ordain- eel natives. d natives. Assisted, bv five hundred and fiftv-one native preaclicrs, they proclaim the wordof(iod in the bazaars arid markets, not only at their several stations, but in the . districts around them. They have thus spread far and 'wide the doctrines of Christianity, and have made a considerable impres sion, even upon .the unconverted population. They have founded three hundred and nine native churches, containing seventeen thousand three . hundred and fifty-six members or communicants, of whom five thousand were admitted" on the evidence of their being converted. These church members form the nucleus of a native Christian community, comprising one hundred and three thousand in-, dividuals, who regularly enjoy the blessings of Bible instruction, both for young and old. The efforts of missionaries In. the cause of educa-. tion are now7 directed to thirteen hundred and forty five day schools, in which eighty-three thousand seven hundred boys are instructed tlirough the medium of their own vernacular language; to seventy-three boarding schools, containing nineteen hundred and ninety-two boys, chiefly Christian, who reside upon the "missionaries' premises, arid are trained up under their eye ; and to one hundred and twenty-eight day schools, with fourteen thou' sand boj's and students, receiving a sound scriptural education, through the medium of the English' lan guage. Their efforts in female education embrace three hundred aud fifty-four day schools, with eleven thousand five hundred girls ; and ninety-one ' boarding schools, with two thousand four hundred .... i csi... . t , 1.. : iv,-. ana uuy gins, laugui stimoat cuiuanci) w mo vernacular languages. ; ; Thp Bible has been wholly translated into ten languages, and the New Testament into five others, . riot reckoning the Serampore versions. In these ten languages, a considerable Christian, literature has been produced, and also from twenty to fifty tracts, suitable for distribution among the Hindoo and Mussulman population. Missionaries have also established and now maintain twenty-five printing establishments. While preaching the Gospel regularly in these numerous tongues ol India, missionaries maintain English services m fiftv-nine chapels- The total cost of this vast missionary 'agency during the. past year, amounted to one hundred and eighty-seven thousand pounds ; of which, thirty-three thousand five hundred pounds w ere contributed in Inpia, not by the. native com munity, but by Europeans." STRENGTH OF THE WILL. It has been the belief of a large class of correct lirjKers, that the aoiiity tt'a man to perform any action, wiunn me scope ot reason, is only limited by the extent of his natural capacity. In other words that which he wills to do,3if he sets resolutely about it, he can perform to the fullest extent; provided, his chosen task lies within the compass of his mind. . To a mental organization at once vigorous and well balanced, if its powers be rationally employed, failure in any given pursuit is almost next to im- . possible. A steady perseverance in the one path, and in quest of the one object, being all that is required. It is by "vac'dlation of purpose, by trying first one thing and then another, by shifting backward and forward, by changing the object of attainment, and by becoming discouraged, when to press vig orously forward, is the one thing needful to success, that the positions of so many persons in life are so vastly inferior , to what" might have been expected from their natural abilities. It . is the infirmity of the will counteracting the strength of the; under standing,! They have frittered away their talents in trying to accomplish many things, and have, naturally enough, succeeded fully in none, " The first thing which a young man requires on setting out in life, is a Purpose. The second, is a resolute determination hot to be turned aside by any lures which may spread themselves across his path. Let him fix his eyes steadily on any one object, and if he will but work toward it with un flagging and undeviating energy,' he will be as certain of reaching i.t eventually, if life and health are spared, as the pedestrian is of coming to the end of his journey, or of the boy as growing to manhood. Above. all, let it be remembered that perfection is only to be obtained by a devotion of the mental or physical powers to tl one sole object, and that every deviation from the direct path of pursuit, seriously abridges, the chances of success. Criminals Proofs. The following is from an old author : "I am about to relate to you a his- I t,.rv pvtranrdinarv enouch and which shows the j jnt 0f God upon criminals. In Anjou a cure j o Zretty bad life had a quarrel with a sergeant of ...ri.vrhnofl. r-vorv on Rnsnvf el the cure, his liiv- j - J 1' ' avowed enemv, of having killed him. At this time it happened that a man who had been hung was exposed upon a gibbet, a league or two from the place where the cure dwelt His relatives cut him down, and threw him, with the rope about his neck, into a neighboring pond. Some) fishermen found Lis. body in their nets, and every one earner to see it. , l- . As it was very much disfigured, the prejudice that they had against the c ure made everybody imagine that it was the sergeant. Thereupon he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to be hung. When lie saw that he must die, he said to his judges : Sirs, it-is true that I have killed tbfc sergeant, ' but you condemn me unjustly, and all "those, who have testified against me are false witnesses.. The dead body that has been found, and on the strength of which you have tried me, is not the sergeant's the real body of the sergeant, whom I killed in my presbytery, is under such a board in my garden. i even, nis gcm? is to dg found tnerc witu furo a no j judge sent to the cure's presbytery, and found I things as he had told them. i 1 - V '"S . I 4 ;!