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SrlU1NS, DURISOE & CO., Prop
"HOW BEAUTIFUL IS EAETH."
BY Nis. SIoUNVEY.
Oh God I how beautiful is earth,
In sunlight or in shade,
Her forest with their waving arch,
Her flowers tiat gem the glado.
Her hillocks, white with fleecy Rocks,
Her Belds with grain that glow,
Her sparking rivers, deep and broad,
That through the valley flow.
Her crested waves that clash the shore,
And iift their anthem loud
Her mountains with their solemn brows,
That woo the yielding cloud.
Oh God I how beautiful is life
That thou dost lend us here,
With tinted hopes that line the cloud,
And joys that gem the tear.
With cradle hymns of mothers young,
And tread of youthful feet,
That scarce, In their elastic bound,
Bow down tie grass flowers sweet,
With brightness round the pilgrims staf,
Who, at the set of sun,
Behold the golden gates thrown wide,
And all his work well done.
But if this earth which changes mar,
This-life, to death that leads,
Are made so beautifully by Him
From whom all goods proei-eds,
Howglorious must that region be
Where all the pure and blest,
From chance, and- fear, and sorrow fiee,
Attain eternal rest.
0, come with ino, my dearest one,
The daylight now has fled;
Come let us wander while the stars
Are glittering over head;
For, 0, 'tis sweet with one we love
To roam in scenes like this,
To gaze in her beaming eyes,
And steal a gentle kisit.
0, come with me, my dearest one,
The moon beam's tender light
Is placing glittering diadems
Upon the brow of night;.
And I would pass away the time
In roving fancy free, -
And dreaming bright and, golden dreams
01 love, and faith and thee.
wa rEx ORe TUE ADVEaTIsER.
SUICID A T - 0ARDnIG SCHOOL
* BY R UT H.
0 0 CL ,U DUED.
It is now seventeen years, (long to look for
ward to, but short in the retrospect) since the
events Ilam about to relate occurred,and I cannot
look back upon that time, even now, without
It was on Friday the 20th of June, at three
o'clock in the afternoon, as school was about to
close, thatMrs. Staunton informed us that there
was to be a prayer meeting in the Methodist
Church ; and as she intended going all of her
scholars who chose might accompany her. We
were all delighted at the idea of going. Ida
was not present when Mrs. Staunton made the
proposal to us, and as soon as we were dismiss
'ed I went to tell her about it, and ask her to
Sgo with us. I found her room door a little ajar
Sand pusLing it open without ceremony what
was my consternation to find Ida on her knees,
over her wrriting desk, weeping bitterly. She
looked up as I entered, and I shall never to my
dying day forget that look, so wild-so haggard
S-so full of anguish. She arose, trembling
from head to foot, went to the door, closed and
locked it. Then throwing her armas 'round my
neck, cried as though her heart would break,
exclaiming, "0, Ruth, Ruth! do for God sake
Shelp me. Help me before it is too late-too
late. 0 kill me ! kill me before I shall have
lived too long ! Lived to disobey my kind in
dulgent parents. 0, why was 1 ever born to
be so wicked and so miserable? If I could
only dio now, before the sun goes down this
night, what a mercy it would be."
As may well be imagined I was very much
frightened at theastrangeness of her conduct, and
-made several attempts to unclasp her hand from
around my neck. 1 asked her to tell me what
had happened to make her so very unhappy. - I
wvanted to go for Mrs. Staunton, but she would
not listen to any thing of the sort. She only
cried and trembled the more, muttering incohe
rent sentences, and sobbing as though her heart
was breaking. This lasted about half an hour.
When she became more calm, we sat downi
together on the side of her bed: Ida iwith her
Shead resting on the foot board, and her face as
bloodless as though her rash prayer had been
granted; for. except that a slight shudder would
at intervals pass over her, one might have sup
posed that the troubled and weary spirit had
indeed taken its flight.
I besought her to tell, me what had caused
her this great grief? had she heard from home ?
were any of her friends dead ? It struck mec
that perhaps Charles Conover was dead, or
very ill; but not one word could I get in an
swer to my questions.
All at once she turned to me suddenly say
.ing, "Ruth, don't tell any one a word of this
at least not now. -I.know I can rely upon you,
2though you are but a child. Nothing of any
consequence ails me. I am very foolish no
doubt ; but you know I have been very much
~petted all my life, and cannot bear to be crossed
er contradicted in any thing. So forget what
Shas just taken place, and pray excusa me to
Mrs. Staunton; tell her I have a h'ead-ache and
~had rather not go to the meeting to-night."
SolI left Ida's room with a heavy heart, and
* a vague feeling of uneasiness easaily to be ac
o ounted for. When I had reached the stair
case I turned back and going again to her room
Sentreated to let me stay and bthe her head,
and assist her in getting to bed. To this however
she would not consent, saying, "No, no ! I dent
want any one to stay with me. I dont need
any assistance, ad shall soon feel better if
lelt to myself; go away now Ruth, and dent
come nymore, please." And those words,
-these -last words, ring in my ears even now.
I went-first to No. 12, .but finding the room
,?eupty,if took nmy bonnet and a thin shawl (a
Yn.th na. Mare still sdbewhat~ chillvy and
repaired to the drawing-room, where I found
Mrs. Staunton and most of the girls assembled.
We started of directly for the Church, the
girls all chatting merrily, for the presence of
our Preceptress was never any drawback to our
conversation out of school. In fact she appeared
at times -to feel'almost as youthful and joyous
as her pupils. Prayers had already commenced
when-we got there, and I dont recollect ever
being present at one, either beibre or since, that
appeared so lengthy. 0, how I wished I had
staid at home with Ida. I felt guilty somehow
for having left her. I had almost a mind to
leave the Church and go back alone; there was
a weight on my mind, a depression of spirits
that it is impossible to explain. But as all
meetings have an end, so this one came to a
close after two weary hours of prayer and ex
hortation. Generally I enjoyed these gather
ings, for my mind was of a religious turn, but
to-night I was not myself..
We arrived at home about ten o'elock. Mrs.
Staunton went directly to her.room where her
husband was using very profane language to the
servant who had been left in charge of him.
Some of the girls went to the drawing room,
two or three to the music room to practice their
new pieces, but far the greater part to their
sleeping apartments. I went directly to Ida's
room, to ask her.how she felt. - I carried in my
hand a small night lamp, thinking that proba
bly she had gone to bed, and would not there
fore be likely to have a light burning in her
room. I knocked at the door, and not receiving
any answer, opened the door very softly, fear
ing to disturb her, but on looking round the
room found that Ida was not there: every thing
remained the same as when I left; the bed had
not been occupied; the writing desk where I
had found her kneeling in the evening, remained
open, with writing materials scattered about.
A dread foreboding of something terrible took
possession of me, . trembled in every limb,
and felt quite sick and giddy. I concluded to
go to Mrs. Staunton's room, which I did accord
ingly, telling her that Ida Lathrop was not in
her room. I then told her all that had trans
pired before we went to the prayer meeting.
S he appeared to be much shocked at my com
munication, said, "Ida had conducted herself
very strangely for several days, and when ques
tioned as to the cause, did not appear willing to
give any satisfactory answer." I looked up at
Mrs. Staunton and saw that she was very pale;
her left hand was pressed to her forehead and
her eyes closed ; I thought her about to faint,
but she did not. In a few moments recovering
herself, she resumed; " I am very fearful that
Miss Lathrop has eloped with Mr. Conover. I
have been in constant dread of it ever since
she came here. I only hope I may be mistaken.
Perhaps she may be in the parlour." She took
me by the hand and we went to the parlour,
several girls were there. h" !r-' --- -
them. We dlid not ge
wide open and we coumt.
without entering. We
room, but every thing re.
had stated. I could nowuse
was-very much alarmetd;
hand in hers, and we i
room ; every thing there
and nothing appeared t -
since our dismissal. "
haps some one of the; -
mation." The schoo. -. --
sual hour alarmed thme whiole~house; Scholars
and servants came rushing en masse from all
parts of the building. Every one'looked fright
ened, and many were in dishabille. Mathew,
the Gardener, who lived at the Lodge about
two hundred yards from the main builiag, was
the lsst to arrive ; he, poor old man, being
quite infirm from age and rheumatism. I
watched Mrs. Staunton and saw that she kept
her eyes on the door, 0 how anxiously, hoping
no doubt that Ida might come in-but she did
not come. When all were assembled, Mrs.
Staunton spoke, " I find that Miss Lathrop is
missing, and propose that the grounds should
be searched ; she may be ill in some part of the
yard, or garden. I must request that you will
proceed very quietly, as I do not wish to alarmi
the neighborhood unnecessarily. Mathiew you
will oblige mec by taking the lantern and lead
ing the way."
So Mathew got the lantern, and we searched,
first ev ery part of the house, then the flower
yard, and lastly the garden, without the least
success. Just as we were about to return to
the house-Mathew had already commenced
ascending the steps, he being foremost-one of
the girls said, " let us go to the swing," which
was some little distance from the house, in the
most retired part of the yard. There was a
large old app~le tree-in one corner of the yard
near the garden fence ; it always wrent by the
name of the swing tree, as it was to this tree
the swing was atlixed. We did not wait for
Mathew, but ran, poll mell, down the foot path
that led to the swing tree. A little girl about
ten years old was a few steps ahead; her name
was Betty Byars; she reached the tree first,
gave an unearthly shriek, and fell to the ground.
We all rushed to the spot, and there what a
sight met our bewildered gaze ! For there,from~
the swing rope, hung 1da Ladhrop, a st gned
cor pes !
How shall I attempt to discribe the scene
that followed ? The screaming and ermnfusion.
Poor M~irs. Staunton was there, scarcely less pale
than her who had rushed unbidden to the pres
ence of her Maker. I shall never forget her
look as with clasped hands, and trembling voice
she said, " Oh, girls, this is ten thousand times
worse than my most dread foreboding ! what
shall I do? 0 ! what shall I do !"
We all gathered closely about Mrs. Staunton
and could only echo her own words, " What
shall I do!I"
By this time the neighbours had become
alarmed and many had gathered to the spot
where so much had taken .place in so short a
time ; and in less than an hour from the time
we left the house, it was known throughout the
Village that one of Mrs. Staunton's scholars had
One old gentleman, who appeared to have
more presence of mind than the rest, said,
" That every thing must remain as it was until
a jury could be summonsed and the coroner
I feel that I have not given a correct descrip
tion of what occurred, as words are inadequate
to describe the incidents of that night, and I
am certain that I shall never feel again as I felt
on the night of the 20th of June 1839.
Well, there~ we stood. I cannot tell how
long-it might, have been ten minutes; it might
have been five hours as we took no note of
time. Our bewildered cries hadl ceased, and
Mrs. Staunton had gathered us closely ab~out
her, when a dark object glided noiseles:,ly past
us. The next moment there camne swelling
upon the midnight air a groan so dismal, and
unearthly, that with a shudder we turned to
see whence it proceeded; and there beside
the dead stood Charles Conover ! Then followed
a scene that baffles all description. There stood
Charles Conover, and they who wrap him in his
winding sheet,- will not see him look more
deathly, than he did that night. For a moment
.~he stood as if petrified with horror ; then he
:burst forth, "0, Ida! My dear Ida! has it
ome to this'? Have they driven you to this ?
"We will cling to the Pillars of t]
The curse will be upon your Father's head-not
on yours, my Ida! You shall not stay here
another minute." And he commenced taking
the rope from around her neck, when Mathew
interfered, telling him " that every thing must
remain as it was, until the Coroner arrived."
But Charles Conover shoved him away as though
he had been a child, crying " Peace-old man I
away. Ida Lathrop is mine, and mine only! i
No power on earth can take her from me now. i
They denied her to me, in life; and the curse i
be upon their heads, for they have killed her! i
Oh, Ida! Ida! my best beloved! speak to me, i
one word, only one word to tell me - that you I
are mine in death, as you were to have been I
this night in life. Why did I not come in time I
to prevent this ?"
By this time he had taken her down, and
was bearing her toward the house in his arms. A
We all followed, almost without knowing that c
we did so. When he had got as far as the steps c
he appeared to hesitate. Mrs. Staunton re- I
quested him to wait until Mathew came, in i
order that he might assist in carrying Ida to
her room. le made no reply, but sat down on i
the steps, and appeared to be much exausted. 1
When Mathew came Charles would not allow 1
him to help, telling him to go on with the lan- c
tern and shew the way. So Charles Conover I
carried the lifeless form and laid it gently on '
that bed where I had sat with Ida so short a I
time before, and witnessed the struggle between (
lore and duty. I understood it all now; those c
burning tears, that violent grief, the self-up- (
braiding, and the prayer for death.
Poor Ida! Poor misguided girl! How still, I
how fair, how beautiful! Still as a marble stat- a
ue; fair as a waxen image, superhumanly beau- c
tiful even in death. There she lay, like a (
crushed lilly, or frozen hyacinth. Not a mark I
or spot disfigured the face; the expression was 1
calm, and even pleasant; the eyes were closed, t
the lips a little tinted, and slightly parted, dis- a
closing the upper teeth.
As soon as Mr. Conover had placed her upon %
the bed, he knelt down at the pillow, and (
bending his manly brow above that brow so s
white and cold, imprinted one kiss, and rising, (
hurriedly left the room.
Mrs. Staunton wept bitter tears, and appeared
very much overcome, and scarcely able to sit t
up. One young lady, a teacher in the school, a
fainted entirely away, and remained uncoucious v
so long that we beemne very much alarmed, and r
were about to sendl for a Physician when she
commenced reviving, though her mind appeared
t~ wander, ga her nerves were a good deal at
fcted. Sonic of the girls assisted her in get
ting to her room and helped her to bed. By
this time the Coroner had arrived and broughta
with him quite a number of men; there were
I think two physicians among thema; they went
down to the swing tree first. s'
mA. U .UL, .. A 4eam LIe people leaving the I
house; shortly after, one of the servants came
to No 12, and told us thant "several of the girls s
had been taken as evidence, and that the jury lI
had brought in a verdict of suicide." s
So Ida Lathrop was robed for the tomb! It "
was almost daylight when they carried her 3
down to the drawing-room and laid her upon a
a settee. I went down just as day was break- a
ing, and thinking it likely that somne of the oirls
were in the drawing-room opened the door; c
and on seeing that there was no one there ex- a
cept Mrs. Stauntoni and Mr. (Conover, was about t;
to withdraw; but Mrs. Stranton told mec to (
"come ina;" so' I went in andi sat down beside her. t
Charle.. Conover was seated at the head of the n
settee, with arms ecrossed, andl chin fallen upon k4
ais breast. lie neither moaned, nor spoke while d
I wa in the roomn. The dim gray dawn light- t
ened into sun-rise, nature awoke refreshed, the c
birds chirped and carolled their melodious o
roundelay, but there he still sat as silent and 11
almost as immovable as the form he watched. v
When the breakfast bell rang Mrs. Staunton p
told me I "had better go down now to break
fas.t." I went down to the table but could not t
eat. Not mnore thain one third of th.e girls camet
down that morning to breakfast, and those who a
were there did not eat. I count that and the v
day following, as the two most dismal days of a
Tis was Saturday. All that day and night, '
and all Sunday, Charles Conover sat beside the '
inanimate form of Ida Lathrop, refusing to take ~
any nourishment, Hie had told Mrs. Staunton
all, on Friday night; and had just finished as I 1
entered thme drawing-room. It was as follows: t
Ida had promised to elope witli bAm; they were
to have been married in the church at twelve ~
o'clock that night; the same church in which ~
we atteuded prayer meeting. Charles was near 1
the church at the time Mrs. Staunton and her
scholars left it; was watching to see if Ida was
not among theta; was still there waiting for her
arrival, whens he heard several per~ons talking
hurriedly, and gathering from their conversa
tion that a young lady belonging to Mrs. Staun
ton's school had hung herself, hastened to the
spot, and found his worst feairs realiz.ed.
It was Sunday night about ten o'clock. I
was in No 12 reading, when 1 heard the sound
of wheels-in a few inoments the door bell
sounded ; and presently Margery came to tcll
me that may father wished to see me. How
my heart bounded, aidd how strangely I felt.
I dont recollect how I got down stairs; I only
remember meeting Papa in the drawing-room
passage, and how much affieted he appeared to
be at what had happened. Hie was very amuch
shocked to think that Ida had so forgotten her
duty to her parents as to give her consent to an
elopement, and perfectly horrified at her comn
"Ida's Father," said Papa to me, "was lying
very ill from the effects of the intelligence ; was
perfectly delirious-a raving inaniac. Her
mother was in a great deal of distress, and did
not knowv what to do, but was anxious to start
off directly for Pittsburg." But Papa says he
told her she must not do so on any account;
urging asm an excuse that she must not leave her
husband. Papa volunteered to get a couple of
gentlemen to accompany him and go himstlf.
Papa appeared to feel deeply for Mr. Conover ;
though he could say but little to console him.
Papa and the two gentlemen who came with
him, sat up all night, as also did Charles Cono
ver. The coflin had been sent to Mrs. Staun
ton's on Saturday night, and now came the un
dertakers to perform their sad office.
It was on Monday morning just after run-rise
that we all assembled in the drawing-room to
take one last long look of Ida Lathrop ! The
body was already in the coffin-and after a short
and appropriate prayer, the lid -was screwed
down, and the coffin-placed in a rough box ready1
for removal. At ten o'clock Papa and the two
gentlemen left with the remains 6f-poor Id
Charles Conover accomipanlying them.- -Ida l~
S..no. herbth nf them kansino ir in ew14.
e Temple of our LI t9es, and it
LD, S. C., RIL
.hildhood; so at her death, Lathrop was
About a week after Papa I received a
etter from him bringing th- news that
Judge Lathrop was the of a Lunatic
isyluni. Twice after the de iof his daugh
er had he attempted to com i suicide. He
ived several years, but never -erward recov
tred his mind. He died in 184r. Mrs. Lathrop
s, I believe, still living. She ared to griove
rery much for her daughter, b ored after
few months. She was by no ns a brilliant
roman, not even intellectual, or telligent; but,
o her credit be it spoken, she a-most devo
ed wife, staying with her husbN at the Asy-.
um as long as he lived.
Mrs. Conover had always l0 .'Ida and ap
ieared to grieve fully as much Mr..Lathrop.
Jr. Conover was a woman of intellectual
apacity and the most ingeni n I have
ver met. She knew that Ida idolized by
er parent.s, but not appreciat as there was
o congeniality between them.4
When Mrs. Conover-.and ' son came to
aake Brook Valley their ho they brought
rith them a little girl about ten of age,who
ras a hopeless cripple, having t are called
lub feet, i. e. the feet double toes turning
ack on the inside of the foot rard the heel.
1his little girl they called Mil 'Martin. She
ad been a foundling left at --door of Mrs.
)onover's brother-in-law, who K in the State
f New Hampshire, where M Conover and
harles happened to be visitin the time.
I have heard Mrs. Conover of poor little
filly's desertion many times; Milly would
it and listen very attentively he tale of her
wn hapless infancy. It was aillows: Mrs.
onover and Charles were on. visit to a Mr.
)enton who had married a sist' d Mrs. Cone
er; they lived in New Ha i.re '(1 forget
he name of the Town) wer ry wealthy,
Ul had no children. It was o very bleak,
old night in Decemberthat a ent knocking
t'as heard at the front door b' Denton's
legant mansion.- The family at the- time
eated in the drawing-room, enj pg a p1ant
hat. There was Mr. Dento la mantabout
ixty years of age, tine lookin jhough'very
ray; Mrs. Denton' aged abc 't thirty-five,
hough in appearance much r, being a
nst beautiful blond ; Mrs.-ConoI whom I have
Iready described, and Charley, th whom the
eader inust be by this time tty well ac
uainted. These composed the M1 seatedin
uat luxurious parlour, on that Wekand stor
ty night in December. A few maments after,the
ervant who had answered the j mons to the
loor, entered the parlour with i ket on her1
rmn, directed to "Mr. Denton.1 ~Thait gentle
nan took the basket very deli itely savine
I wonder what it 'q"
- *mAy, nopmgL
a in all things as though it
ad been their own.
Mrs. Denton loved children, had always de
ired them and was very anxious to keep the
ttle founndling committed to their care, until
e ascertained that the little feet were deformed.
O my" she exclaimed, "Poor little thing !
hy its feet are dreadfully deformed-what1
ball we do with it?" Charley, who had been
silent looker on until now, said very earnestly,
0, Mother, I wish we could take the little
bild. I have wishe.d so many times for a sister,
ud I ama afraid no one else will he willing to
ike her, because something ails her feet." Mrs.
'onover who had been looking very tenderly at
ie little creature, sleeping on her sister's lap,
ow said, " Well, sister, if you do not want to
eep the child, I will take her; true I cannot
o as well by her as you could, but I will try
abe all to her that I:4).d be were she my
wn." So it was settledy, ad at the expiration
f the holydays, when Mrs. Conover and Char
sy returned home, they carried the little Milly
ith them; and from that time, she found a
lace, not only in their home, but ini their hearts.
Milly was a little beauty ; I ani almost afraid
a attempt a description of her, as I anm certain
hat I shall not do her justice. -I never before
aw eyes so blue, er skin so fair, and her hair
ras itself a treasure, so golden in hue, so soft
nd curly ; I always envied her the possession
f it. Then her features were perfect. I have
Iways thought her one of the most beautiful
d iutelkgent children that I have ever seen.
Irs. Conover would never let her go from home,
a attend school, but had a teacher to come to
er residence an'd give her lessons, -aflirmning
hat "something might happen to her;" but
aany thought that it was because Mrs. Conove'r
ould not bear to have the child out of her sight,
en for a few hours at a time, so necessary had
er presence become to the happiness of her
iore than mother.
Well, so years rolled round; and they who
rere girls and boys in 1839 had grown to be
romen and men, called upon to act their parts
a the great drama of life. 'Others were called
o that dreamless sleep; and among these Mrs.
Ionover was called to join her husband, and
eap the reward of her well doing. May my
st hours be like hors. Poor Charles grieved
s only buch natures as his are capableof griev
g, and Milly (now fifteen years of age) was
uconsolable. Mrs. Conover -died in 1844. I
ras not in Brook Valley when she died, and did
tot hear of it until a few years ago, when on a
isit to my childhood homte. 'Chen I learned
Iso that Mrs. Staunton was still living, though
omething. older and more grave than when I
ast saw her; that she was wearing caps, andl
sing spectacles, and "growing old very grace
ally." Mr. Staunton died in 1842. He becamee
ery much changed before his death, and dieda
And, now reader, Iknow you are very anxious
o learn what has become of Charles Conover.
tell I must tell you: He married, nine years
go-and whom do you suppose he married ?
know you will never guess, so I will tell you:
Ie married Milly Martin, the little foundling !
erhaps you think he ought to have lived single
I his life. If so, I differ fromn you. I think
i acted perfectly right, and I am certain ho
ould not have found a lovlier wife, had he
earched the world over.
Well my story is almost. finished: Charles
Jonover is now one of the leading men of New
York state; for many years he occupied a place in
~he Halls of Legislation; has been called twice to
Washington to fill aplace in Congress, and stands
rt the head of his profession. .He. is beloved and
~steemed by all who know him. When last I
ad tidings of him he was the father of two
ons and a daughter, is a most.. devoted parent,
md one of the kindest of hiusbands. Is pei-fect
in every relation of life; but still retains within
his heart of hearts, the image of the, beautiful
md accomplished, but rash and. misguided, ID
~'There was a slight fall of snow at Atlanta en
Tuesd. ay th 1th mLas;
dt RTus, Citerature,
it must fall, we will Perisa amli
For the Edgefield Advertisor.
A man gets into a - corn speculation,-gets
redit at a Bank,-his securities are by the
Bank doubted,-the Bank makes excuse for
topping credit,-does not wish to assail the
redit of the parties,-does not rail out, " want
f confidence"-and he forthwith, if on a grand
ry, tries to indict the Bank as a nuisance, or
ails out "Down with the Banks." A man
nuys much property,-surrounds himself whh
uxury,-wants money to pay, or purchase more
-Bank will not be able to accommodate, and he
iouts out "Down with the Banks."
I do not know whether "SALUDA" is in any
)f these categories; neither is it a matter of
oern with me. I know that the above, is
;he general rule. Will it be wise in the rest
if mankind, or even with them, to say " Down
with the Banks?"
ORIGIN OF MoNET-Gold and silver were
iopted, as the measure of value, in exchanges;
icause they were precious, and thereby porta
ule. And because they were furnished, from
he bowels of the earth, in uniform quantities,
md as a measure of ralue, would not be as coni,
attle, slaves, .&c., which would change their
neasure, as they became scace or plentiful.
Usury, or interest for the use of money, was
rbidden by antiquity, because money was not
roperty, but the measure of the value of Prop
xty. See Exodus, and see IHerodatus.
THE NATURE OF MONEY HAS CHANGED-The
itermingling of the Christian nations, by the
vans of the Crusades, started the modern com
nerce which has develo itself, in a system
if exchanges for goods, ich may be called
Commercial Credit" covering the whole com
nercial World. Bills of exchange, due bills,
lutes, mortgages, &c., &c., &c. This is using
per "promises" instead of cash. And so long
i they are convertib!e into cash, on their ma
4rity,--or demand, they serve the purpose of
ash. By properly adjusting the maturity of
ills, and the position of " promise to pay on
emand," so that they may not coma all at
ince, the merchant may keep up an immense
usiness, with great profit. But by the intro
luctibn of' "promises" on paper, the original
ea (which was essential to money) as to umni
rinity of ouantity is concerned, was oblitera
id, and all the currency with gold and silver
o became merchandise; so that, gold, silver,
oks, bonds, broad-cloth, and beef, are all
dike articles of commerce.
OlolN OF B.tN~s-When the Credit system
ccamne fully inaugurated, then its greatt organic
ymbols (Banks) were 1,n - - ''' "'". " "rW
Syet, tsee that she has injured hersenl us
~ee~ing out of line from the great roads to
ymmuercial wealth, which were followed by
ither sections, with which she was commnercial
r connected, by trying to keep unif'ormity of
urice in money by her usury laws.
Suppose South Carolina should make a law,
at corn shiouldl never sell above fifty cents per
uushel. Ihow much corn would be carried
iom Chattanooga to Charleston when Savannah
ould give seventy-five cents? Not a bushel!
y unanimous consent of commercial circles im
'ew York, money is left to bring its market
due. Last fall, men with perfect inpmunity,
ld the use o-f their monmey 1or 10 perF 'enit,
cr month. D)o we not know that it is as casy
r money to find a market as Corn?
"Cotton is Kinig," but where is the palace
here he shows his royal forms of wealth, anid
ower? Ts it in Charleston? or New Orleans?
-where he is born ? No, it is where the pro
eds of sales, (money) can make the best in
estment-Wall street New York. While by
Dreing capitalists to find the best markets for
heir money, the grass grows in thme streets of
harleston. 7 per cent Bonids in N. Y., now, are
scheap, as 6 per cent Bonds equally safe in
WAT Is MEANT IN FACT DY "DOWN wITH
n Btxs?"-lt means destruction to credit
connerce. If it is to apl~Py only to our
tate, then we will circulate the bills, and cred
ts of our neighbor States, to their great aidvan
age and our loss, if " Down with the Banks"
sto have universal application, then Gold, ands
ilver is to be the old uniform measure. And
fthere be 3 paper dollars for one dollar gold,
hen "SALUDA" means by his cry, "let the
irices be 3 times their present value, by making
noney 3 times as scarce." What a hard time
or the debtor ! and what a good time for the
apitalist. Tho capital now used for Banking
iurposes would then purchase the poor debtor's
urperty for i of the nominal value it now has.
his would be, to make the present Bank own
irs richer, and the debtors poorer. At present
me of our Banks are only making 6 per cent
cr annum; then, the same capital would miake
00 per cent at one dash.
-Now "SALUDA," my friend, study the nature
f Currency, and Banks, and Usury laws, and
Jredit, and Trade, and Union. And when you'
;oto sail again, "keep near the shore." "But
fyou swear by the gold that is in the temple,"
we will be tempted to say of you " he is a deb
or." -If you rail out so nmch against "the
hole world, and the 'est of mankind" we will
iuspect something is wrong.
" Fl.v pei potulit renna cognaoscere cauaaa."
Do not think that I am a Bank officer, or a
andidate for any other office: for I am no-I
tm only 6i well wisher to you and all else, and
A BRAvF. Woxis.-Early last Sunday morn
ag, Mr Baker, the jailor at WVatertown, N. Y.,
was called upon to. administer some medicine to
Sprisoner, who pretended to be sick, and, while
attending to this duty, he was, attacked and bru
all.beaten by three other prisoners, as well as
the pretended sick man. 'hey took the keys
om hisprocket, and were preparing to make
their exit, when Mr.. Baker, who had been
awakened by thme scuffle,stood at the gate with a
loaded revolver, and threatened to shoot the first
that should attempt to pass. She kept the vil
ins at bay until assistanCe was procured, and
they were then secured in their cells again.
Ar darumsrc JUa.-Thec story is told that a
jury at Taunton, Mass., recently, being unable
to agree in a certain case where a man was ac
cused of stealing two dollars and fifty cents worth
of nails, reported that they were willing to pay
for the nails and let the prisoiner go.
Every vice and folly has a train of secret and
necessry 1,unishmenmt. If we are lazy, we must
expect to be poor ; if intemperate, to be dis
eased; 'if luxurious, to die prematurely.
A favarite mode of introduction, in Brazil ,i
said to be i" This is my friend'; if he steals anay
thing f.rom ou I m rcsnonible for it."
lt the Ruins."
From the Washington Union, April 11.
r EATH 0F MR. BENTON.
Mr. Benton died at his residence in this city
yesterday morning, after an illness .of several
days. The event was not unexpected by his
family, and the country has been long prepared
for the announcement. Up to within a single
day of his demise, he continued to labor at the
great work he had undertaken-the Condensed
Congressional Debates, which, we believe he
had nearly brought to seventy-five. As his
life has been full of honors, the award of his
fellow-men, so did he die full of years, the boon
His disease was cancer in the bowels. He
had endured severe surgical treatment a few
months before his death, and obtained tempo
rary relief. His anlliction returned upon him,
however in a more aggravated form, and resul
ted in a lingering and painful death. His intel
lect remained unimpaired to the end, and he
made every arrangement and preparation for
his demise with Roman fortitude.
The President, hearing of the extreme ill
ness of his ancient compeer, called upon him on
Friday evening. The dying statesman declared
afterwards his exceeding gratification at the
visit. The interview is said to have been pro
tracted. Mr. Benton is said to have expressed
his extreme solicitude for the condition of pub
lic affairs, and a painful sense of the imminent
dangers which threaten the country. He is
said to have exhorted the President to rely
upon Divine support and guidance, and not upon
that of men, who would deceive him.
31r. Benton was a native of North Carolina,
where he was reared. His ancestors were
among the leaders of the revolution. The fami
ly of Harts, from which he descended on the
maternal side, were among the early emigrants
from North Carolina who settled in Kentucky,
mnder the name of the Transylvania colony,
and who were supporters of Daniel Boone. It
was through this circumstance that Col. Benton
was led to choose the West for his home when
he had grown to manhood and left the army.
le established himself at Nashville, rather than
in Kentucky, where he immediately rose to dis
tinction at the bar. About the year 1815, lie
emigrated again, still westward, to St. Louis,
Missouri. lis senatorial life, which lasted for
the unprecedented period of thirty years, com
merWed in 1820, when he was - elected by the
legislature of Missouri, anterior to the~formal
admission of that State into the Union. His
istory since that event has been intimately
nterwoven with that of the country ; and for
wenty-five years constituted some of the most
trilling and illustrious pages of the history of
to bteen the two friends until one or two
venings before Gen. Jackson's final departure
from Washington for the Hermitage in March,
1838, when a very solemn and affecting conver
sation occurred, the nature of which we may
readily conjecture, but which of course has
Mr. Bentun was a determined member of the
pposition to Mr. Adams' administration during
his whole term. He warmly supported Gen.
ackson for the presidency, and was one of the
main pillara of support to his two audministra
ions. It is unnecessary to specify the particu
lar occasions4 on which lhe distinguished huimself
in his conspicuous parliamentary service. The
panic session, however, cannot be passed without
a special notice. In this Mr. Benton sustained,
aided by a few powerful De)mocratic debaters,
mong them our now President, the whole brunt
f the tremendous attack by which General
Jackson's administration was then assailed with
a fury and powerful array of talent and elo
quence never before or since wvitnessed in any
legislative body. Ills services thenkrendered to
the Democratic cause ranked him among the
first intellects and statesmen of his age, and
have placed his name among those of our tirst
His controversy with Mr. Clay, in the famous
eto debate In 1852, affords, praps, as striking
a specimien of his powers in thme gladiation of
debate as any that could be selected. If either
knight in that celebrated encounter was borne
worsted from the ground, it was certainly not
the Democratic orator.
The measure upon which he won the largest
degree of popular eclat was, however, that of
the expungimg resolution, a measure which he
himself conceived, amnd, without broaching the
subject to a human being, moved in the Senate.
It was on the 17th of January, 1837, at the
lose of the long debate which had occurred on
this famous resolve, shortly before the vote was
to be taken, that Col. Benton rose in his place,
andadrssing himself to the chair, in the
ourse of a brief and emphatic speech, refering
back to the scene which had been enacted in
the Senate chamber three years before, on the
doption of Mr. Clay's nienmorable resolution of
ondenation upon G en. Jackson for the re
moval of the deposits, and to his own prophecy,
then fearle'sly hazarded, that that resolution
should be expunged by the people of the Uinited
States from the journal of the Senate-uttered
the well-known words, which are thiesynonymes
of his name, "soLITARY AND ALONE I SET TIs
BALL IN MOTION."
We believe that it was in 1851 that Mr. Ben
ton retired from the Senate. Duiring the last
dozen years, though the mortal part has lingered
amongst the living, yet has the esteem of our
generation for him been chiefly retrospective,
nd been chiefly concentrated in the historical
an as he was in the pride of intellect and in
the prime of manhood.
These later years of Mr. Benton's eventful
life have been appropriately devoted to regis
tering the events of those in which his intellect
nd his fame were at their zeninth. His two
great histarical works, the Thdrty Year.' Viewo
and the Abridgment, though they may not -be
exempt from defects and blemishes, are valua
ble depositories of political knowledge, and the
former will popularize a period of the history
of our institutions that will exert as great an
infuence upon the destiny of o' cutry as
any equal length through w yet
It would be superfluous tpon the
character of a man whose istory are
as familiar as household among the
American people. Of gi elect, strong
physical constitution and presence, of
inflexible will, undaunted co ',immense ap
plication, vast erudition, capacious memory, di
rect manner of thought, and nervous emphatic
eloquence-it was impossible that he should
Ihave lived under institutons like ours and
fi to reach, and to figure upon, the most
Iconspicous theatres of action-impossible that
he could have failed to stamp the impress of
his gnins indelibly upon our Dublic Dolicy.
Mr. Benton' je
during the quarter of a century whicinktr
voned from 1820 to 1845 is more clc. y lAbtr
woven withthe history of our counry than.
In private life, in the circle of his own faIY
Colonel Benton possessed none of that sats
ness of character and angularity ofm.nr 4
that distinguished him in public. As a husband,.
he wastender, anxious, th ughfl and gentle.
to a degiree never exjeded ; and this freature oc
character aldne would have been conclusive
proof of a noble and exalted nature. He was
as devoted, affectionate, and assiduous a father"
as husband, an indefatigable tutor In his own
household; no less proud of the results of his
unremiting labors in this domestic department
of duty than of his more conspicuous labors on
the public theatre.
THE DFrATH BED oF Col.. BEm(ox.-A Wa
ington correspondent of the New York Tribuni,
writing on the 6th inst., says: ?
Col. Benton is dying. His disease, cancer o
the bowels, has made such progress that he can
not survive much longer. He suffers extreme,
pain, and is exhausted to almost the last degree
of physical prostration. But his mind is as clear
and as powerful as ever, and the high, resolute,
Roman spirit of the old statesman struggles with
indomitable-energy and fortitude against sick,
ness and weakness and the awful presence of the.
king of terrors. He dies in harness, working to -
the last for his country and mankind.. An old
and intimate friend from Missouri called upon
him this morning. Benton was in bed, searce
ly able to move hand or foot, and not able to
speak much above a whisper. But he was hard
at work, closing up his Abridgement of the De
bates of Conrss, which he has brought down
to 1850, to tbe passage of the compromise meas
ures. He was dictating the closing chapter -of
the work. His daughter,,Mrs. Jones, sitting be
side the bed, received it, sentence by aentene
whispered in her ear, and repeated it aloud to
her husband, who wrote it down. It was then
read over to Col. Benton, and received his cor
rections, made with as much anxious particular
ity as if it were the maiden work of a young au
Morxr Vxaxo.-We have written and'pu
lished much on this subject,- but there WAstill
one argument in favor of the purchase of this
"sacred sport" that we have left untouehed.- It
is this4; nearly every society in the1
States have contributed 'their mite, .e
The Odd Fellows have contribnted .a iea'.
hand, the Masons have come to thn rescue~ u.~.
the Church as yet has not raised her midtiy
voice in furtherance of one of the greatestpfo-~Q
e .t it was ever th..lot...finanto tartie1.
upon. Washington hiimseit was one .i L.2
most refulgent examples of the practieca-appre-.
eatios of those prineigles which it is the pro
vince and duty of~ the (.hurch to illustrate, and
we see no reason why this. great bod of ten
millions should neglect their duty.* We hope
these hint.s will be acted upon.-Marion (Ala.)
DrIsTaUI1AcE AT A BArs.-l he rite of bar
tism was administered on Sunday at Providence,
to over fifty persons. At Thurber's Pond, where
a number of persons from the Fourth Baptist
Church were immersed, about three thousandT
p:sons were asemibled, half of whom were Irish,
as Miss Carroll, who was converted from the
Catholic to the Protestauqt faith some time ago,
was one of the persons to be baptised. On en
tering the water, says the Providence Journaal,
she was insulted wvith cries of " kill her," "adrown
her," &c., the crowd beij ,ith difficulty kept
behind a rope which vn to keep them
from the shore. After remony, the car
riage which conveyed liss Carroll to her resi
dence was followed by-a lnrge crowd of Irish'.
The presence of the police, however, preventcd
any further disturbance.
TiE Hoor TaAuD.-Douglas and Sherwood,
the hoop-.skirt manufacturers, turn out 4000
skirts every day, and constantly employ 500
hands, besides 180 sewing machines ; so says the
Journal of Commerce. Trhere is used each week
not less than one ton of steel, to aid the ladies
in spreading thenmeclves. Several floors in a
large building are exclusively occupied to their
tidll extent with persons engaged in cutting cloth,
tape, bone, and steels and muaufacturing small
metallic pieces used in constructing the skirt,
for all of which processes cunningly devised ma
chinery is employed by those who are engaged
in adjusting the parts to each other and brnging -
order out of apparent confusioni. Hloop-skirt
making is a science, and one on which patient
study has been bestowed, till by successive im
provements, an article of dress had been produced
which is thought to be favorable to health, while
it conduces to comfort and beauty. To illustrate
the diliculty expecrienced in obtaining the exact
desideratum, ratan, cord, whalebone and brass,
have been successively employed and rejected
in whole or in part, as too brittle, too ridged, too
Ilexile, &c., and, of course, much valuable ma
chinery had to be thrown aside as useless, with,
each chiang'e introduced. Now, a kind of En
glish steel is substituted, after being subjected
to a high heat, and suddenly plunge into cold
oil and again transfered -to a bath of melted lead
to give it the proper temper and elasticity. Such
quantities of the material thus prepared are used,
that the railway train which forwards the weekly
instalment from Connecticut to the factory in
this city, is ycleped the "hoop train," and, of
course, is regarded with more thana ordinary con
sideration. The factory, with its industrious
population of 500 young women, is an interesting
place to visit.
The Grand Division, Sons of Temperance, of
South Carolina, will meet for the second quar- .
terly session of the current year, at Cheraw, on
the 28th inst. Delegtes wall be conveyed on
the South Carolina Ril Road for one fare,. pr-oe
vided thirty or more use that road; and on the
Greenville, Charlotte, Laurens, King's Mountain.
Northeastern and-Cheraw Rail Roads for one
fare, without condition as to numbers.
A young man was lately arrested in Pensl
vania for stealing a horse, and confessedth -
crime, stating that he knew of no other way to .
get rid of a woman who was constantly- impor-,~..i
tuning him to marrfher. Between a wife and 4
a prison he thoeas he believed, the lesser aU-'
two evils. - - .*.
Governor McWilie of Miss., and hi a ss
wie, have just been blessed with a
pledge of conjugal afectionui
A gentleman having faiie'din
asked what he intended to'doKa ~ 7~.
shall stay at home a while~ and:get acuit.
with my family I"