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THE ANDEivSOX I^.'TE^blGEJSX'ER,
IS ISSUED iiVERY THURSDAY, AT j
(OTJDOLLAR A YEAR, Iff ADVANCE.'
J5f@- Tf delayed six mouths', S1.50; and $2.00
iki she end of the year.
HOYT HUMPHREYS,
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS.
? Advertisements inserted at moderate rates;.liberal
deductions made to those who will advertise l?y the
Sober Second Thought
-:o:- * ' .
A STORY FOB THE TIMES.
<l 1 must luive it. Charles," said the
handsome little wife of Air. Whitman.
41 So don't put on that sober face."
" Did~J put on a sober lace ?" asked the
husband, with an attempt to emilo that
was anything but a success.
Yes, sober as a m;m ou trial for his
life. >Yby it's as long us, the moral law.
There, dear, dear it up, and look at least .
?s if you had one friend in the world.
What moneydovers you men are I"
t: How much will it cost V inquired Mr.
"Whitman. There was another effort to
look cheerful and acquiescent.
" About forty dollars."
11 Forty dollars! Why, Ada, do you
think I am made of money f Mr. Whit?
man's countenance underwent ? remark
tfale change otexpression.
** I declare, Charles." t;aid his wife, a
little impatiently,"" you look at me as if
I were an oLieel of affection. I dou't
* *
-think this is kind, of you. I've only hud
three silk dresses since we were married,
while Amy Blight has had six or seveu
daring the same period, and every one of
tier's cost more than mine. I know- you ;
think me extravagant, but I wiishyouhad
:i wife ike some women I could name. I
1 rather think you would tind out the dif?
ference before long."
" There, there, dpnjt talk to me alter
this fashion " I'll bring you the money
at dinner time, that is. if?"
" So its nor bats, if you please The
sentence- is complete without them.?
Thank you, dear' I H go this afternoon
and buy the sifk. ' So don't fail to bring
the.monev. I waVin at Silksins yester?
day;, and saw one of the sweetest patterns
? I ever laid my eyes on. ' Just suits my
Style and complexion. I shall be incou
?iabie if its gone. You won't disappoint
And Mrs. Wnitman laid her soft, white
Land on the* armof her husband, and smil?
ed \vi?-h'sweet persuasion in her lace.
0, no. You shall have the money,"
.>aid -Mr. W hitman, turning off from' his
;fc, as she thought, a little abruptly, aud
hurrying from ;tier presence. In his pre?
cipitation, he had forgotten the usual par?
ting kbs.
^ ."That's the way it is always !''' said
Mrs. Whitman, as the sound of the clos
ing^street door came jarring on her cars.
Just say money +o Charles, and at once,
there is a cloud in the sky." * *
She sat down, pouting and half angry.
'?Forty dollars for a new dross!"?men-1
tally ejaculated the husband of vain, pret-1
ty thoughtless MiW. Whitman, as he shut
the door after him. " 1 promised to set?
tle Thompson's .coal bill to-day?thirty
three dollars?but don't know whore the
money is to come from. The coal is burnt
up, aud more must be ordered. 0. dear!
j?^tn. discouraged- Every year I fall bih
^Hi^iaiid. This winter, I (lid hope to
get a little in advance, but if forty dollar
talk dresses are to.be the order of the day,
fere's an end tc that devoutly-to-be-wish
cd-for circumstance. Debt, debt! How
1 have always shrunk from it; but stead?
ily, now, it is-closing its Briarian arms'
around me and my constricting chest la?
bours in respiration. Oh, if I could but
disentangle myself now. while I have
the strength of my early manhood, and
the bonds that hold me are weak. It Ada
could see as I see.-?if I could only matcefl
her understand rightly my position Ala$?
that is hopeless, I fear."
And Afr. Whitman hurried his stops, be
-~ cause his heart beat quicker,, and his
thongt was nndnly excited.
Not a long time alter Mr. Whitman
left home, the city- postmaster delivered a
?letter to his address. His wife examined
the writi>^ on the erivel(Tj)c, which was
in a bold masculine hand, and t*aid toher
self, an she" did so?
?? I wonder who this can be from ?"
Something more tlian curiosity moved
; her. There intruded on her mind a vague
feeling of disquietude, as if the missive
bore unpleasant riews for her husband.
Tho stamp showed it to he a city letter. :?
few times of late such letters-bad come
to his; address, and she had noticed that
he read them hurriedly, thrust them with
'?ut remark: into his pocket, and became
silent and sober-faced.
Mrs. Whitman tamed the letter over
and, ova* again in her hand in a thought
tu! way, und as she did so, the imtige of
her husband, sober-faced and silent, as he
had become for most of the time of late,
presented itself with usual vividness.?
Sympathy stole into her heart.
** Poor Charles 1*1 she said, as the feeling
increased; " I'm afraid something is go?
ing wrong with him."
Placing the letter on the mantel piece
where he couid sec it when he came in,
Mrs. Whitman entered upon some house?
hold duties, but a strange impression, of
a weight, lay upon her heart?a sense "of
impending evil?a vague, troubled, dis?
turbance of her usual inward self-satisfac?
tion.
If the thought of Mrs. V\itman recur?
red, as was natural, to ?ne elegant silk
dress of which she was to become the
owner on that d:ty, she did not feel the
proud satisfaction her vain heart experi?
enced a little while before. Something of
its beauty hud faded.
" If I only knew what that letter con?
tained," she said, half an houraffer it had
come in, her'mind still feeling the pres?
sure which tad come down upon it so
strangely, as it seemed to her.
She weit to the mantelpiece, took up
the letter* and examined the superscrip?
tion. It gave her no light. Steadily it
kept growing upon her that its contents
were of a nature to trouble her husbund.
?* lie's )cen a little mysterious of lute,"
she said ti> herself. This idea affected her
very unpleasantly. ?' lie grows more si?
lent and reserved," she added,as thought,
under a/kind of feverish excitement, be?
came active in a new direction. " More
indrawt, as it were, and less interested in
what gb)s.on around him. His coldness
chills mtlat times and his irritation hurts
me.
Sho dew a long, deep sigh. Then,
with an thnost startling vividness, came
before htt mind in contrast her tender,
loving, c/cerful husband of three years
before, aid her quiet; silent, sobor-iueeu:
busbaudbf to day.
Something has gone wrong with him!"
she saidkloud, as feeling grow stronger.
? Whutku it be ?"
Tlte liter was in her hand.
" Thimiay give me light." And, with
careful tigers, she opened the envelope,
nut b'rwhig the paper, so that she could
seal it'mi in if she desired so to do.?
There uts a bill for sixty dollars, and a
cuininujealion from the person sending
the billj He was a jewel,'.er.
If th is not settled at once," he wro te,
" I skaljput the account in suit. It;lias
been stndiug for over a year; and I am
tired oljgHting excuses instead of mon
The ill was for a lady's watch, which
Mrs. Witman had almost compelled I:er
husbanto purchase.
?? No' paid for! Is it possible?" cx
cluimeijthe little woman in blank astcn
ishmenj while the blood mounted to her
fbrehea.
Thetshe sat down to think. Light be
gan toome into her mind. As she aat
thus tbiking. a second letterfor her hus?
band die in from the penny-post-man.
Sheo'peed it without hesitation. Another
bill, anmnothcr dunning leter.
?/} Nopaid ! Is it possible V She re?
peated jie ejaculation. It was a bi l of
twentyivedollars,forgaifcersand slippei.'S,
which jtd been standing for three or lour
month.1!
? Thiwill never do!" said tho awa
keningl-ife?"never, no, never!" And
sho thrit the two letters into her pock?
et in a ssolnte way. From that hour, un?
til the jturn of tier husband at dinner
time, rs. Whitman did an unusual
amoutilf thinking for her little brain.
She sawihe moment he entered, that the
morningloud had not passed from his
brow. *
;I Hem the monej' for that new'dress,,"'
ho said, tjing a small roll of bills from
his vest plket, and handing them to Ada,
as he camiu. He did. not kiss her, nor
smile in e old bright way. But his I
voice was ihn, if not cheerful. A kiJis' i
and a smilljust then would have been
more precis to the young wife than a
hundred si: dresses. She took the mon?
ey, saying
'jTbanlfpu, dear! It is hind of you
to regard i; wishes."
Somethiilin Ada s voice and manner
caused Mr.'hitman to lift; his eyes, with
a look of imiry, to her face. J3ut she
turned awavo that he could not read
its expressin
He was grav and more silent than usu?
al, and cat \\\ scarcely an appearance of
appetite. i
" Come beb earl}', dear," said Mrs.
Whitman, asfe walked to the door with
her husband cr dinner.
" Are you xious to have me admire
your new sill ress ?" he replied, with a
taint effort tCnile.
I? Yes. It II be something splendid,"
slie answered]
He turned off from licr quickly, and
left the house. A few momentsshe stood,
with a thoughtful lace, her mind indrawn
and her whole manner completely chang?
ed. Then she went to'her roomand com?
menced dressing 1:0 go nut.
Two hours later, and we find her in a
jewelry store on Broadway.
'? Can I say a word to you ?" She ad?
dressed the owner of the store, who knew
her very, well.
" Certainly," he replied, and they mov?
ed to the lower end of one of the long
show cases. ?
Mrs. Whitman drew from her pocket a
lady's watch and chain, and laying them
on the show case, said, at the same time
holding out the bill she had taken from
tho envelope addressed to her husband.
" I cannot afford to wear this watch ;
my husband's circumstances are too limi?
ted. I tell you so frankly. It shonld
never have been purchased but a two in?
dulgent husband yielded to the importu?
nities of a foolish yonng wife. I say this
to take blame from him. Now, sir, meet
the case, if you can do so in fairness to
yourself. Take back the watch, and say
how much I shall pay you besides."
The jeweller dropped his eyes to think.
The case took him a little by surprise.
Jle stood for nearly a minute; then ta?
king the bill and watch, he said:
2 Wait a moment," and went to a de?k
near by.
" Will that do ?"
He had come forward again, and now
: presented her with the receipted bill. His
face wore a pleased expression.
'? How much shall I pay you ?" asked
Mrs. Whitman, drawing out her pocket
book.
'?Nothing. The walch is not defaced."
" You have done a kind act, sir," said
Mrs. Whitman, with feeling trembling
along her voice. V I hope you will not
think unfavourable of my husband. It's
no fault of his that the debt has not been
paid. Good morning, sir."
Mrs. Whitman drew her veil over, her
face, and went, with light steps und a light
heart, from the store. Tho pleasure she
had experienced on receiving her watch
was not to be compared with that now
felt in parting with it. From the jewel?
ler's she wen t to the bootmakers and paid
the bill of twenty-fivedollars f from thence
to her milliner's, and settled for her last
bonnet.
" i know you're dying to see my new
dress," said Mrs. Whitman, gaily, as she
drew her arm within that of her husband,
on his appearance that evening. Come
over to our bed-room, and let me show it.
Como along ! Don't hang back, Charles,
as it'yo? were afraid."
Charles Whitman went, with 1 is wife
passively, looking more like a man on
his way to receive sentence than in ex?
pectation of a pleasant sight. His thoughts
were bitter.
" Shall my Ada become lost to me," he
said in his heart?" lost to me in a world
of folly, fashion, and extravagance ?"
'? Sit down, Charles." She led him to
a large, cushioned chair. Her manner
had undergone a change. The brightness
offner countenance had departed. She
took something, in a hurried way, from
the drawer, and catching up a foot-stool,
placed it on thu floor near him, and look?
ed tenderly and lovingly in his face.?
Then she handed him the jeweller's bill.
" It is receipted, you see." Her voice
fluttered a little.
"Ada! how is this? What does it
mean ?" He flushed and grew eager.
" I returned the watch, and Mr. R. re?
ceipted the bill. I would have paid for
damage, but he said it was uninjured, and
asked nothing."
"Oh, Ada!"
" And this is receipted also?and this,"
handing the other'bills she had paid.?
" And now. dear," she added, " how do
you like my dross? Isn't it beautiful ?"
We leave the explanation and scene
that followed tt the reader's imagination.
If any fair lady, however, who, like Ada,
has been drawing too heavily upon her
husband's slender income, for silks and
jewels, is at a loss to realise the scene, let
her try Ada's experiment.
Our word for it, she will find.a new and
glad experience in life. Costly silks and
jewels may be very pleasant things, but
they are too dearly bought when they
come at the cost of a husband's embarrass?
ment, mental disquietude, or alienation.
Too often the gay young wife wears them
as the sign of these unhappy conditions.
Tranquil hearts and sunny homes are pre?
cious things?too precious to be burdened
and clouded by weak vanity and love of
I show. Keep this in mind, O yefairones,
who have husbands in moderate circum?
stances. Do not let }rour pride andpleas
j nre oppress them. Bich clothing, costly
laces anil gems, are poor substitutes for
j smiling faces and hearts unshadowed by_
care. Take the lesson and live by it, rath-1
er than offer another illustration, in 3-our
own experience, of the folly we have been
trying to expose and rebuke.
Tllie Boy who. Conquered.
Two or three years ago, a lad who was
left wiithout father or mother, of good
natural, abilities, went to New York, alone
and friendless, to get a situation in a store
as an errand boy otherwise till he could
command a higher position ; but this boy
had been in bad company, and acquired
the habit of calling for his bittere occa?
sionally because he thought it looked man?
ly. He smoked cigars also.
He had. a pretty good education, and
on looking over the papers, be noticed
that a merchant on Pearl str*t wanted
I a lad of his age, and he called and made
j his business known.
j " Walk into my office, ray lad," said the
merchant, '-I will attend to you. soon."
When he had waited on his customers,
he took a seat near the lad. and espied a
cigar in his hat. This was enough.
" My boy," said he, " I want a smart,
honest, faithful lad., but I see you smoke
cigars, and in my experience of many
years, I have ever found cigar smoking in
lads to be connected with various other
evil habits; and if I am not mistaken,
your breath is an evidence that you are
not an exception. You can leave, you
will not suit me."
John?for this way name?held down
his head and- left tho store; and as he
walked along the street, a stranger and
friendless, the counsel of his poor mother
came forcibly to his mind, who, upon her
death-bed called him to her side, and pla?
cing bei' emaciated hand upon his head,
"Johny, my dear boy, I am going to
leave you ; you well know what disgrace
and misery 3'ouv father brougt upon us
before hits death, and I want you to pro?
mise me before I die that you wiil not
taste one drop of the accursed poison that
killed yo ur father. Promise me this, and
be a good boy, Johny, and I shall die in
peace."
Thescalding tears trickled down Johny's
cheeks, a nd he promised ever to remem?
ber the dying words of his mother, and
never to drink spirituous liquors, but he
soon forgot his promise, and when he re?
ceived the rebuke from tho merchant he
remembered what his mother said, what
he had promised her, and he cried aloud,
au I people gazed at him as he passed
along, and boys railed at him. He went
to bis lodging, aud throwing himself upon
his bed, gave vent to Ws feelings in sobs
that were heard all over the house.
But John had moral courage. He had
energy and determination, and ere an
hour had passed he made up his mind
never,to laste another drop ol liquor, nor
smoke another cigar so long as he' lived.
He Wen t straight back to tiie merchant.
Said he : " Sir, you very properly sent me
away this morning for habits that I have
been guilty . of; but, sir, I have neither
father nor mother, and though I have oc
casionally failed to follow the good advice
of my poor mother, on her death-bed, nor
I done as I promised I would do, yet I have
now made a solemn vow never to drink
another drop of liquor, nor smoke another
cigar, and! if you sir, will try me, it is all
:fask."
The merchant was struck by the decis?
ion and energy of the boy, and at once
employed him. At the expiration of five
years, this lad was a partner in the busi?
ness, and Iis now worth ten thnusand dol?
lars. He thus faithfully kept the pledge
to which he owes his elevation !
Boys, think of tin's circumstance as 3-011
enter upon the duties of life, and remem?
ber upon what points of character your
destiny for good or evil depends.?Field &
Fireside.
-
Not Deep Enough for Pkay[ng.?
We heard, a night or two since, a tolera?
bly good-story of a couple of raftsmen.
The event occured during the late blow
on the Mississippi, at which so many
rafts were swamped and so many steam?
boats lost their sky riggings. A raft was
just emerging from lake Pepin as the
squall cams. In an instant the raft was
pitching and writhing as if suddenly
dropped into Charybdis, while the waves
broke oven* it with tremendous fo/rce.?
Two Irishmen were on the forward part,
one of whom, frightened by the tremen?
dous uproar, and expecting iustant* de
smfction, dropped on his kness and com?
menced, praying with a vim equal to the
emergency. Happening to open his e}'es
an instant, he observed his companion
not engaged in prayer, but pushing a
pole into the water at the side of the
raft.
"What's that yer doin*, Mike?" said
he?:'get down on yer knees, now for
there isn't a miuit between us and purga
1 t0l7
I " Be aisy, Pat," said the othe%?as. h?
C?oly.eqntinw t0 punch ^ ^
his pole-" Be ,iiSy now:what>s thc)lse
of praying when jfc^. ,an ^
with a pole?"
Mike is a pretty line s'i^imen of a b
class of Christians who p<.fer t0 0I^-lt
prayer as long as they can "v,ch 'bot?
tom."
Baby's Tired.
Baby's tired; lay him down softly, moth
er. Fold his white hands together; twine
the tendrils of hair around 3-011 r finger,
just as you always do, and let him sleep.
You needn't leave nurse with him ; there's
a hosvof watchers round his dainty couch ;
a million of airy wings to fan his slum?
bers; a countless number of soft hands to
minister to him when he wakes.
He's only sleeping. Don't weep; you
never did before, when he went to sleep
so sweety-; why should 3*011 now ? What
is it? Dead! 0, no, baby is not dead.
He whom <God hath taken into the nur
sery ofheaven knows not ofdeath/ Noth?
ing knew lie of sin, therefore nothing of
death, or the eternal shades of its sunless
land.. When Hebrew mothers pressed
about the ' Prophet of Nazareth,' JIo put
his hands on the little one's head, and
said, ' Suffer them to come unto me.'
The softened accent of those words?
the music ofthat voice?came down the
aisles of time like the cadence of the south
?ind, and the young pilgrim, tired so
oon, hud down his staff while 3'et in the
ow green paths of childhood.
There let him slumber sweetly j raise
no frigid monument about his head ; press
not the earth too tighthly upon his breast,
It need not that graven stone should ho,
reared there. The record or his life is
better kept on the mother's heart leaves,
than on broken shaft, or Weeping urn. She
..nows when the head bowed, when the
the weary hands fold; she saw the droop?
ing lids close, and the pattering feet gath?
er themselves up to rest. What need that
sharpedged steel.should cut into granite
the short hiHtoiy of his life? At most it
would only be, \ Tired, while 3*et it is ear?
ly morn.'
Plant God's flowers above the tinv
mound ; twine thore myrtle? emblematic
that of the love that linked itself with
3'our heart fibres?silent messengers that
mutely" show the Creator's might?lovely
monitor's that ever point upward, and for
the dew give forth fragrance.
A stranger's cursory glance at the ex
quisiteiy wrought marble will not perpet?
uate his memor3-. Only in loving hearts
live remembrances of dear ones ' gone be?
fore.'
He's onl3* tired; lay him softly forest.
The way over tte hills is steep?the path
in some places flint3'and rugged, the thorns
sharp, and sand-hills hot and parching.
The road looked long to his infant e3*es,
so he turned back to the arms of his Fath?
er, preferring to strike the harp with an?
gels than battle earth-baubles, which at
best are dearly won. Life's cup was bit?
ter, even at the brim; the draught had no
charm?no exhilirating pleasure?so he
put it from him and went to sleep
Choke down the great sobs, crush back
the murmuringsof 3*our mother's desolate
heart, and robe yourself to meet him.
Ask for the white garments, the staff of
faith, and the sandals of patience. Put
them not from 3Tour feet till tho journey
be ended; fail not till the appointed time,
then, tired and wea^-, lay down your bur?
den and rest.
Not forever in the earth's green bed?
not evermore ' neath vaulted roof, or the
flowers' bloom; but whore the wicked
cease from troubling; where the King
spreads a royal banquet for the hungry ;
where the crystaline rivers flow, in which
the travel-stained ma3* refresh ; where the
Hacred anthem unceasingly roll, while ju?
bilant harp-strings keep timo.
There's rest for thee and him : for bal^
and its mother. He cannot return to thee,
but thou shalt go to him.?Field <?? Fire?
side.
-o
The Thought which Cheers a Dying
Hour.?Said a d3-Jr>g man in 1113- hearing
once: '-My life has been a failure. I have
made a fortune to leave to m3' relatives
to quarrel over when I am gone, and
what is there in that thought to cheer me
now ? There is but one green spot in the
dreary waste of a long life, and that is
the fact that I took a number of poor
D03-s by the hand and aided them in be?
coming men I can run .over in my mem?
ory more than a dozen such, who are
now useful;and honored men, both in
Church and State, whom I aided ancour
couarged in obtaining an education. They
will do some good in the world if 1 did
." The tears ran lo^^^his cheeks
be'^s spoke, and ht> turnv? bimself On
is bell, andj^rty 8unk iiitu7lh<*"rms o{
atb/j8(iSil neverJ^J1 thltt scene.
t^aiueiT0?ned>^)0l$ che P11^ ?*
pr?r*be^enace
After Lorenzo 1>
room, lifter a hard ii;:v-, ^Th
Western part of Virgil.b. :t ,,v*' . .
persons collected in the bar-roo! .
joy their usual ru-yelries as w:us
torn in that part of th<r country. A I
late hour in tho night, the alarm' was 'tn?
tha'; one of the eampany n>J lost' Iiis
p.M'!vCt-.book. and aAearoh was nropowed
^hereupon the---'Jandh)iul?'remarked'" t]
. ^*V.c Dow was in the ho.
'f tjC\iney was there, he kirn
Lorenzo finj it ' Tlu/, 1()n
was instuntTj^ .? , . . T .
, ' ?'?"j^Tysceived wich anprobatson;
and aceordirrgr-- T. ' 1
.. ... * ? Ale. Dow was rous
from his dumber, .
. ... ' X brought to find tno
money. As he entere... " . .
? i ,'<??- ?'' roonr,. his eyes
ran through the-company^ . , "
inrpniy, but noth.mg appear
fix.', guilt upon any it..;. Tin
peared with a countenance oxioreS
great concern, arid besought Mr
for Heaven's sake to find fcl'ie money
'? IlaVe any left the company since you
lost your money V Said Mr, Dow.
?? None,' said-the loser, ?? n?5Wc.'
??Then.' :>;iid Lorenzo, turning to tho
landlord, - go and bring n,e a large din?
ner pot.'
Tili? created no liufe surprise. 3hii as
supernatural powers were univerpaly con)
ceded, his directions were inihesir^hgly
obeyed. Accordingly the pot waty brought
forward, and s<* in the middle of the
l'O?lli.
?? Now,-"'' said Lorenzo, "go and
bring tiie old ouieke'.i-'coek from the
i'OOSt.
This was also done, and at lorenzo's di?
rections, the cock was placed, it, the pot,
and covered over with a.board or ltd.
?? Let the doors now be fastened at d
the lights extinguished, sa d Mr. Dm,-,
which was also done.
'?Now.' said I.e. (.: every person in the
room must rub his hand* hard against the
pot. and when the guilty hand loaches
it the cock will crow."
Accordingly, all came forward and rub
bud, or preotnded to rub against the ppt.
But no cock (-"owed. _.
Let the caudles now bo lighted/lTaid? .,
Lorenzo. ?? there is no guilty person here.
If the man had any money, he must havo
lose it some where else. Bui; stop.'sai l
Lorenzo, when all things were prepared,
?? let us now examine the hands.'
This was the important part cf his ar?
rangement. For on examination, it; was
ibutid that one man had not rubbed
against the pot. The other's hands being
black with the soot from the pot, was a
proof of their innocence.
*' There.' said Lorenzo, pointing to-rive,
man with clean hands, " there is the man
who picked your pocket." .
The culprit, seeing his detection, at
once acknowledged his guilt. ' y.-f
A Dying Confkssion.?A Baltimore
paper gives the following incident pf-tlie
battle of Friday:
?? A resident of this city was forced by
"the rush of the crowd in close proxiniity
to one of the soldiers. He raised his gun,
and taking deliberate aim pulled, the trig?
ger. The-yapexploded but the gun fail
to go off The citizen rushed tony ward,
and seizing*the musket, plunged the bay?
onet almost entirely through Ids body.
"The soldier, who was an Irishman,
fell to the ground, aud was carried to the
sidewalk, where he called those aioand
him to bear witness k that heH."iarrkedTl*T~
(rod, although he was dying himself that'1
his gun had not exploded: thai he rievet
desired this service, and was .pressed into
it under threats of death ; that the )>eo
p!e of Baltimore did right and that the
rest of the troo'po deserved hiu fate.'. At
the moment of death lie repeated his pro?
test against this unholy war upon breth
ern, and said he jusl'ihed the people of
Baltimore; and that he and Ids eonirades
had been led to believe that the people of
Baltimore thought exactly upon political
subjects as the people of Massachusetts
did." ' /
Eejoicing Amox<; the Coi.ou.id Porr
la-t;on.?No other class of our p?p?luti/n
seemed to be more jubilant over the gir?
render of Fort Sumtet" than the colored.
At every Depot and stopping place o? the
Railroad, from Greenville to Cohvhbi>t
on Sunday last, crowds of negroe; wore
assembled, rejoicing at the rcsulv-of tho
conflict between the troops of flu Feder?
al Government and those of the Confeder?
ate States, There is to-day m?re hum?
bleness and good feeling, morf content?
ment, among our negroes lhanat an y pe?
riod of oar history. Ho mud for "aboli?
tionism, and its efforts to civile a serviie
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