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* 5 mo rat( .30#u'NNI, Wirebottv to 5o0#!t r# 3Lgfjtu N 100, S*olft s v U T t ie Utrattte, "We will Glint to the llarn of the T'emple of our-S.I. mst. W9we will Ni'rsh amidst the Ri.. M F.-DURISOE, Proprietor. - ED1)G EFIEL D 31852. - THE EDGEFIELD ADVERTISEK PUBLISHED EVERY 'HURSDAY. W, F. DURISOE, Proprietor. 'A SIMKINS & JOHN BICON, Editors. TR'MB.--Two DOLr.As per Tear, if pai in hdvance-Two DOLLARS and Frrr CzIas j not paid in -six monthe-and TnREE DOLLARS i not paid before the expiration of the year. A] snliscriptions not distinctly limited at the time c isubscribing, will be considered asxmade fur ai jndefuitopeziod, apd will be continued until al arrearages are paid, or at the option of the Pub liei Subirtions from other States must b accompanied with the cash or reference to somi one-known to us. S"VZWRTisEIxENTs will be conspicuously insert edit05 cents-per Square (12 lines.or less,) fo: theira insertion, and 37 1-2 for each subseq uen indtion. When only published Monthly or uar t4il*ne Dollar per square will be charged. Al Advertisements not having the desired number o insetiions marked on the margin, will be contin ued.until forbid and charged accordingly. Those desiring to advertise by the year can dc so on liberal ters-it being distinctly understood that contracts for yearly advertising are confined to the immediate, legitimate business of the firm or individual contracting. Transient Advertise ments must be paid for in advance. For announcing a candidate, Three Dollars, in advance. For Advertising Estravs Tolled, Two Dollars, to be paid by the .Magistrate advertising. FANNY. A Tale Arom Real Life. BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Fanny Austin stood at the window while thd sun was setting-an open, French win dow, whose flowing white curtains half hid the slender fori of the young girl. She was not looking towards the west; though the sunset pageant was beautiful to behold -she was looking toward the cast, not at the shadowy sky, not at the dark, forest-crowned hils, but far away (own the dusty road, with her lovely, smiling, expectant eyes. ''he gold and crimson of sunset passed away, the dews and shades of twilight came on-and still Fanny stood at the window. A servant entered and lit the lanips, and, as he went out, looked back at the fair girl with a pleasant, knowing smile; then Fanny's mother came in-quietly arranged a dlight ly disoldered table-looked at her ab stracted'daughter silently, but with a fond, prou4most- motherl cxpression,..and ~ ie twilight deepened' a glorious June evening came out in heaveni. Fanny steps throngh the open widow I into the pi-azza,.aud bends forward, as is tening intenly. Surely she hears the I distant gallop of a horse! Yes, now it comes aeross the bridge, down in the ravine!-now it ascends the hill-now I comes the gleam of a white horse dashing I up the road, urged by an eager rider; and Fanny Austin turns quickly, and re-enters the parlor. where she demurely seats her stlf at a table, and takes up a book. Through how many twilights during the past year had Fanny waited and watched for the cotming of that milk-white steed! She had grown to know his gallop across the bridge as well as she knew the voie of his master. Fanny's lover lived in the city, five miles away-and in all seasons and all weathers came to visit his liege lady on this favorite horse, a beautiful and powserful animal. But this was the last time that Fanny would watch with loving anxionsness at that eastern window for the coling of the bold impetuous rider for to-morrow they wvere to be ma~rried. A swveet ideal of early womanhood was Fanny at that tmoment, wiith her love radiating face bent over her book, of whose contents she sawv not a wvord-with the forward fall of her light, wvavy hair, half shading her shy, tenider, soft blue eyes-with the tremulous play of her parted lips and the vivid flushings of her fair rounde'd cheek. She was dressed with child-like simplicity, in a latwn of that most delicate blue wie see in the far jI-with flowing sleeves, half revealing armsh oft faultless symmetry. Her white neck was uncovered, and, in place of a brooch, she wore at her bosom a bunch of gale blush roses. How her high-beat ing heart rocked them, and shook out their perfumes !-howv eloquent, how fitly, her love spoke in the rise and fall of those gase-buds, and breathed in the fragrance they exhaled! There is a quick step in the hall without --the door is flung open ! Let us look up with Fanny at him, who stands on the thr-eshold. A figure of medium height, manly yet more delicnte than robust-a face intel lectually handsome, though exceedingly fresh and youthful-the full red lips all smiles, the large brown eyes all tender. ness; a deep flush on the slightly bronzed cheek-the dark curly hair somewhat dis ordered atnd blown about the broad browi by tie fresh night wind ; so stood Henry Lester-buit only for an instant stood, a little blinded by the light,-then stepped joyfully forward. Fanny rose, half fond half fearful, the passion of the wsoman at trfe with the shyness of the child, to deel his glad embrace. -"You are late to-night, dearest," sh< - said, in an inquiring tone. " Yes; my groomsman, Charles Mason came to-night. 1 had net seen him fo nearly a year, and so we had many thing to talk about. I never liked the felloi so mii'l Indeed, I believe I love all m L friends the better for loving you so truly Fanny. Like Juliet, 'the more I give the more I have to give."' "Such, dear Henry, is the infinite, di vine nature of love. Did you find the evening pleasant?" f "Glorious! The air was both soft and r invigorating, the starlight is very pure, and there is a trifle of a moon, you know, jusi enough to swear by. Oh, Fanny, I never was so happy as t-night! My heart was as the heart of a child, brimming and bubbling over with happiness. I sung in riding through the dark pine woods--little beside your name, I believe, I took off my cap, and let the winds frolic as they would with my hair; feel now, Fanny, and see how damp it Is with dew." Fanny laid her hand caressingly among the shining curls, then drew it away with a blush, while her lover continued " I remained so unspeakably happy sometimes urging on Selim at a furious rate, the sooner to quench the hot thirst of my heart in your presence--sometimes checking him up and sitting quite still, to let the great waves of joy dash over me till I eane to the burial -ground on the hill beyond the raviie, I had passed this a hundred times with only a momentary shadowing of my heart, as a swift stream is shadowed by flowing under a willow; but to-night, at the first sight of the gleaming, ghastly tomb-stones, I reeled in my saddle and groaned aloud!" Why so, dear Henry 1" "Because, love, I remembered that you were mortal, and not one of God's own imperishable angels, as I had dreamed you-that you might leave.my love, my bosom, for one of those low, cold, lonely beds or sleep and dark forgetfulness. Oh, great leaven, the agony of the thought! he cried, hiding his face against Fanny's breast, while tears, that were no reproach to his manhood, dropped fast upon those pale blush roses. Fanny howed her head over him, and I said witla tender solemnity: . " I am persunaded that neither death, t nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor liv, .F r a little while," she added; "not ti onI, I think." henry looked up bewildered, and she tl :ontinucd, with a quivering lip: " because, a learest, I should so soon be lying by your l1 ide. And now," she added, smilingly, 'let us talk of brighter thlngs-l never 1, aw you it, a mood so melancholy and r roreboding. Clonds of all kinds are so a roreign to your sunshiny nature. I rode f aver to our house with mamma, to-day. i Everything is in perfect order there. now. I The last thing I did was to arrange your honks in the little library. Your dear mother says that she will have the parlors < lit up and tea all ready for us, the evening I we get back from the Falls." " Say the evening we reach home, Fan. ny! I want to hear you speak that word, I so I may he sure I am not dreaming of a pleasant, quiet home, and a blessed little wife of my own." " Well, then, home-your home-our home, to be presided over by an ignorant little 'child w'ife,' a thousand removes fronm an angel, but in your love, indeed, 'blessed among women.' Nowv are you satisfied I" After receiving her lover's unspoken, yet eloquent response, Fanny laughingly resumed : " I fancy wve shall have a funny sort of a rnenage-b)oth so young, so to tally inexperienced, and with, to say the least, such exceedingly modest meanas. I wish we could live like the fairies, on dewv and honey ; or rather, as the angels live, on pure love. Oh, then, Harry, wve could ' fare sumptuously every day.' But, alas, wve are only a poor pair of mortals, and so we must be industrious and prudent, and rub along as we can.". " Why, Fanny, dear, I am not so very young; I was tw~enty last March. I shall be admitted to the bar in about two years. In thei meantime, my rather will do all he can for us,. though he don't esteem early marriages very prudent thlings. I mean to prove to him that I can be as steady, studious, diligent and economical as any plodding, money-making old bachelor in towvn. I shan't hear of your giving up any of your accustomed luxuries, Fanny, or making your dainty hands hard and unkissable with any sort of work; but 1 have already given up play-going and ci gars, and I think some of selling Selim." " Never!" cried Fanny. " What, sell the faithful creature which has borne you so surely and so swiftly to me every bless ed Saturday evening in the year 1 It would make us too much like the reduced and disenchanted couple .1 have some where read of,. who killed and cooked the very carrier dove which had flown bach and forthwith their love-letters." At this moment a bright little lad of ten years opened the door, saying. " Sis ter Fanny, a big band'box has come foi you from the city." " Oh, then, bring it in here," she re e plied. The lad vanished, but re-appearet , in a moment, with the box, which Fann , eagerly opened, and took out a dress c plain white silk, and a long, white veil o delicate lace. " This is dear papa's gift," she said Isn't it a -beautiful veil, Harry I" . I "Yes,"- he answered, "very beautiful What is it made of-book-muslin I" Fanny smiled at his ignorance, assur ring him that it was of lace, and that ol a superior quality. "Don't you-admire the dress?" she ask. ed, after a moment's silence. " Oh, yes, greatly; but it is not as pret ty as the one you have on. By the wa -1 think, I am sure, I remember that dress. Isn't it the very one you had on at Comme'ncement, the first time I saw you I" " Yes," answered Fanny, with a bright blush; " it is rather old.fashioned, now; hut I thought, if you should happen to re collect it, you might be pleased to have me wear it to-night." " Dearest Fanny, how good, how just like you, that was. I have thought this. just the loveliest dress in the world ;-11e color belongs to you, by the right of your eyes; and now I think of it, Fanny, can't you be married in blue ?" Fanny laughed outright at this, saving that the idea was quite absurd and impos sible. "My milliner meant to have my bridal array quite complete," she said, "for here is the wreath of orange blossoms. What think you of this, Harry ?" " A way with it I' he replied ; " there is somethitig stiff, stately, and exotic, in these flowers. Do wear, instead, a few just such rose buds as those in your bosom. They are almost white; they are simple and sweet, and breathe of home. You will wear them, won't you, dearest?" " Oh, gladly, for these, too, have their Lisociations. The tree that bdre them Vas your first gift to me. Henrv, I would ike to humor you about the bue dress [ISo, but this is altogether out of the ques. ion." match, and told the lad he might go for ie horse at once. Willie darted off to the stable, but had t te pleasure of exercising the beautiful I nimal for several minutes, in the yard, efore its master came forth to chlit i. Lit that time was Henry Lester taking s ave of his affianced-always going, but I ever gone. He feltin his heart a strange, ad yearing-some wild, inexpressible i reboding-a fearful shrinkingfron the i light without, beautiful and peaceful as t was-a something that caused him to i inatch Fanny again and again to his heart, I is though some dread power, unseen, but i Iarkly felt, were striving to glide between ;hem and.part them forever. At last Fanny gently unwound his arms rom around her waist, and took a step lackward. He yielded her up with a sad smile, but kissed her once again, and said, a Good night!" Fanny raised her finger with a gesture, playfully forbidding, and said-" Remember, now you have kissed Fanny Austin for the last time !" Henry laughed, and Fanny followed him to the door to see him off. She pat ted the impatient Selim on the neck, and whispered to~ him to bear his master safely, very safely. As Henry gathered up the reins, and was about starting, lhe said, suddenly, with a glance at Willie-" Oh, Fanny, a wvord in your ear!" She drew near and put up her face-her lover bent, not to her ear, but to her lips, and so kissed Fanny Aus tin once more! Then with a merry laugh and another good night, he dashed through the gate and down the road. Fanny soon ascended to her chamber, but she did not retire to rest. Flinging a shawl about her shoulders, sho sat down by the window, and looked out upon the nig'ht. Then she spoke low to herself, in all the unconscious poetry of love " How far the stars can see with their clear, unveiled eyes so high in heaven!l but I cannot believe that in all the vast universe they could behold 8 happier child of the All-wise Father than I." She looked downward-she could not see the' roses, but she drank in their fragrance, and said-" As the roses sweeten all the night air, so love sweetens life for in Oh, gracious God, I bless Thee alike f those far rolling worlds whose light is y on our homes, and for the earth-brig ness of flowers-for life, and more t all for love." As Fanny gave utterance to this sol n ecstacy of a religious and loving'r, she. bowed her head upon the windo' ill before her. Suddenly she started, lpe ed forward and listened eagerly. S ,'-.vas sure she heard her own name , in an imploring voice. It seemed und 'from the ravine beyond the hilLsa niee more it came-a wild sorro, and -piercing cry. It was Henry's vo' . She stole down stairs, passed n lessly -through the eastern window, nd ran i down the road. She was not' istaken ; r for a little wy di Qge 8elin f was standingV.i drboped sad I ly over his ma -whngon -thi grass of tlie roa As Fanny ja he bride, shi saw that a plank ibroken through She flung he r ivbyher loveri side, crying, 1, ftHenry, ar you much hurtt - He seemed.'t; Gtled; but he soon revived, and tip exclaimed, brokenly, "Oh. havegyou come! Now, it will not to die." "Dear He" k so. -I hope you are not ha "Fanny, I am- y hart. Selim broke through-the amnd threw me, cutting my head the temple then, in extricoati if :he fell on me with all his we * afterwards got strength to craw oi the Edst on to this grass, aiid ' twice; but, Fanny,.Fanny,j am dyihg-my breast seems all n, and my lungs seem filling with "Oh, then, let n .or shout aloud for help 1" "No, dearest," lispered, "only take me in your and let me die on your bosom; und at-alone with you, I have stren to die." Then Fanny, ed, broken-heart ed, but strangely . raised Henry's head and pillowedi heibreast. Those thick curls she had a little while ago, all bright wlE ,were now dark and heavy, with' riikling from a severe wound in eiple. Oh then Fanny was io Ion shy. nor chary of her tenderness. ionately kissed the lips, the eyes, w, -the already cold hands of her, r he lavished on him all the end names the fond pro'estations her en. girlish heart ad been storing - of the wile, through y tra1 ver-deepening a in .V'.hen she -vept and prayed odidthat poor wounded head a Eir*1bieast, as ~t'.., IVtA J i * it. Vould to God'I po 4 die for you, or t rith you, for I cann4 w.vill iinot stay in t his dark world wh n you are gone, lenry; for my lire is n your. love." r "My dearest do not grieve so bilterly; omething tolls me even nov, that we I hall not he long parted-only be patient j ove, for a little while." t After lying quite silent for some mo- I nents, looking upward,- he exclaimed, al- r nost in his usual voice- t " My spirit is 'passing, Fanny-Heaven I s ready. Now-all the stars seem to f iave rushed together and -formed one rreat central brigh eS5-a world of I ight to which I rise ,' Then reaebing Shs arms, and win4g them about her eck, lie murmured, "Kiss me once nore, my Fanny, my dear, only love, my wife; once more-good night." ' As he breathed thse words, a stream of blood, looking so fearfully black in the dim star-light, poured. from his lips, his arms drooped, and Henry Lester was dead ! Then Fanny fell forward on his breast: and sent -forth shriek aftgr shriek, so fear- I ful and idereing that every slumberer in her hone was rousedi and guided by .the voice oilier long. peyt-up agony, came I to look upon the pitiquls sight of her aw ful bemavemlent.. In, that pleasant parlor, where but an hour atp had sat the betrothed lovers, in life anolove, inlove's most blessed hope and idst unutterable joy,. was.nowv ex tnd the form of one, ghastly, -bleed ig, ad ; while over itz hung the. pale, distr.cted face of her who kept all night her fatch of speechless,. tearless,.unim agigdl sorrowV. Jnny Austin could not follow Ater loijr to thme grave. After her-last linger iu look upon his face, as. he lay in his ' fn, she for the first time fainted. She -borne to her room,-where .she re ined insensible for some..hours. Thtnight she said to her mother, who atched at her side " Where-have they laid Henry 1" "In the southwest corner-of the grave ard, under the large elnl free," was the reply. All the .sueceeding~day,.Fanny's grief was bitter and -despairing, but at night she was calmer~ and earnestly de sired to be left quite alone. 'Early the next morning, :her mothr went to her chamber and wa-s surprised to find her looking much like her taner self, and speaking almost' choedhlyg- buit towards night she relapsed inato lts; and passion ate weeping, smoat desolat, -and hope, less grieving . Agalnprith sleep sneemed to come peace, eve:n seexaltation of spirit, whicir endured onlydor-the morn ing hours-and so i2teondinued -through out the week.' 'The efer child--gave her mother a beautiful eijilanation of this mystery.' "Every-lgIlitibe said." my Henry comes tO UGehr arvisions He folds me in his'arms,Ind dlays his hand onmhot frehead, andd-ookin so pitifully I into my eyes, he wipes away my tear and comforts me, oh, so divinely! H looks as he always did on earth-oni yet more beautiful-I was so proud o his beauty, mother, that I did not thini it possible that he could grow mon beautiful even in heaven; but he seems s< in my dream. He givis me strength anc .oy to sustain me till we meet again; bal I am so weak, that -before the long da3 is through, it leaves me. Yet he nevei fails to come to me or draw me, to him I scarce know which. I seem in a state like that of the Apostle, when he knew not whether he was in the body or out; I only know I am with him, and am con tent." A strange rumor spread through the neighborhood, and finally reached the family of Fanny, that some belated trav ellers, had seen, in the midst of the night a shape of shining white, gliding about the grave of Henry Lester. But no one among his friends was so superstitious as to heed -the story. On Saturday night just one week from the time of the heart breaking tradgedy, Fanny's father, who was a physician, was riding homeward some time after twelve, and as he was passing the grave-yard in sight of his house, he was startled to ob serve some white object at the grave of young Lester. Dr. Austin was a truely brave man, and after a moment of indecision, he dis mounted and entered the lonely burial place. The appearance of the grave grew more and more distinct, as lie drew softly near. It was a huma form prone upon the earth! One mo. ment more, lie had reached the spot, and round his own daughter Fanny, in her bridal dress, lying beside the grave of her lover, with her face upon the mound, and )no arm flung over it. Shocked and ilarmed beyond measure, he called her e, laying his hand on her arm-but he ot rise or move. Then, looking nore clo in her face, Ie saw that - wonderful He raised - - .s about to awoke to - hlfcear d seemed she might ,o qu eiiy W ier ia.:w .thout dis-I urbing her mother. From that night Mrs. Austin always emained with her daughter, watching nd wakening her whenever she rose in ir sleep, put on her bridal dress, and repared to steal out to her grave yard ryst. it was needful, but it was cruel; or from that time Fanny sank in body nd spirit. She seemed to utterly lack he miraculous sustainment she had :nown at first-the vision and the com ort it brought were gone together. One day, seeing her mother weeping, he said, "Is it not written, that a man hall forsake father and mother and leave to his wifeI Can a wife do less or her husband I Mother, God hasjoin d me to Henry; my soul cleaves to his, hat they cannot be separated; and when ie calls I must go to him even from you." At a latter period she said, "Mother lear, I want you to see that no ghostly hroud is put on me, but a soft, white nuslin dress; and fold my bridal veil Lbout me, and put white roses in my hair hat all may know thr'- I am his bride, md not Death's. Ar oh, mother, keep rery Eacred the blue lawn I wore on that ast night, and never let them wash Hen -y's blood out of it. Most of all, I want rou to promise me to plant with your >wn hand, that blush rose-tree that Henry rave me, between him and me, so that he roses will fail upon us both." Before the leaves of, the elm tree over Elenry Lester's grave were goldened by hie autumn frosts, his Fanny was lying it his side.. When June came round igain, the grass was long and green, and lie rose-tree grew more beautifully than aver there; and wvhen the evening winds shook the branches, they scattered a sweet largess of leaves upon the mounds and swung out a fragrance on the grave sweeter than aught else, save the memory of the lovers sleeping below. Often has my mind dwvelt long and deeply on those dreams, which were yet no dreams-those sweet exalted visions, thiose.trances of love and sorrow, which drew that tender and delicate girl, array ed in her bridal dress, .night after night to the lonely grave of her betrothed. Oh, beautiful, adorable mystery of love! Oh, grave where was here thy victory! Oh, mortality where the might of thy prison walls! As of old, an angTel came in the night time and led forth the prisoner. There is, a wvondrous hidden life with in us all, deeper and truer than that of which we have an every-day understand ing and consciousness-a life triumphant over death, and pain and sorrow ; all the mournful conditions of our. mot tal-being. When they who loved the maiden woufd have feared her suffering from the night darkness and cold, with the grosser physi cal ~senses sealed, she walked in light ineffable, and breathed, the soft airs, the balm of elestial rday. When the chill , dews descended on her delicate frame ashe was shielded, folded about by tb r arms of immortal tenderness; when he r soft cheek lay against the hard gravo mound, she was hiding her rapt, con tented face in the bosom of her love. A Father's Advice to his Son. BY GOETHE. The time draws nigh, dear John, that I must go the way from which none returns, I cannot take thee with me, and leave thee in a world where good counsel is not superabundant. No one is born wise. Time and experience teach us to separate the grain ~from the chaff. I have seen more of the world than thou. It is not all gold, dear son, that glitters. I have seen many a star from heaven fall, and many a staff on which men have leaned break. Therefore I give thee this advice, the result of my experience: Attach not thy heart to any transitory. thing. The truth comes not to us, dear son; we must seek for it. That which you see serutin ize carefully; and with regard to things unseen and eternal, rely on the word of God. Search no one so -closely as thy self. Within us dwells the judge who never deceives, and whose voice is more to us than the applause of the world, and more than all the wisdom of the Egyptians and Greeks. Resolve, my son, to do no. thing to which this voice is opposed. When you think and project, strike on your forehead and ask for his counsel. He speaks at first low, and lisps as an innocent child; but if you honor his in. nocence he gradually loosens his tongue and speaks more distinctly. Despise not any religion: it is easy to despise, but it is much better to under stand. Uphold truth when thou canst, and be willing for her sake to be hated; but know that thy individual cause is not the cause of truth, and beware that they are not confounded. Do good for thy own satisfaction, and care not what fol- i lows. Cause no gray hairs to any one; ievertheless, for the right, even gray hairs I ire to be disregarded. Help and give willingly when. thou hast, and think no n o th self fori an 'i thou hast I hon sayest. Not the apparenfi 'PWiftJ )ut the truly devout nian resp.t, an go n his wuys.-..-A-ma I..whrliias the fear of .od in his heart is like the sun that shines 4 d warms, though it does not speak. I Do that which is worthy of recompense, 1 md ask none. Reflect daily upon death, i md seek the life which is beyond with a :heerful courage; and, further, go not I ut of the world without having testified 1 ty some good deed thy love and respect 'or the Author of Christianity. A Happy Home. The first year of married Iife is a most mportant era in the history of man and rife. Generally, as it is spent, so is al nost all subsequent existence. The wife I mud the husband then assimilate their I riews and their desires, or else, conjuring i ip their dislikes, they add fuel to their I rjui ces and animosities forever after. rards. "I have somewhere read," says Rev. 4r. Wise, in his Bridal Greetings, "of a ridegroom who gloried in his eccentrici- I :ies. He requested his bride to accom ny him into the garden, a day .or two ifter their wedding. He then threw a ine over the roof of their cottage. Giving its wvife one end of it, he retreated to the ther side, and exolaimed " Pull the line." She pulled it, at his request, as far as she could. He cried, "Pull it over." '-1 can't," she repliedi " But pull with all yotur might," shouted the whimsical hitsband. But vain were all the efforts of the bride to pull over the line, so long as her husband held to the opposite end. But wvhenu he came round, and they both pull ed at the end, it came over wvith great ease. " There!l" as the line fell from the roof, "you see howv hard and ineffectual wvas our labor when wve pulled in opposition to each other; but how easy and pleasant it wvas wvhen we both pulled together! It will be so with us, piy dear, through life ! If we oppose each other, it will be hard work ;- if wve act together it wil[ be pleasant to live. Let us always pull to gether." in this illustration, homely &a It may be, there is sound philosophy. llusband and wife must mutually bear and concede, if they wish to make home a retreat of joy and bliss. One alone cannot make home happy. There needs unison of action, sweetness of spirit, and great for bearance and love in both husband and wife, to secure the groat end of happiness in the domestic circle.-Ladies' Reposi tory. Izq a state of mental absence, a young man demanded the hand of a young lady, and only perceived his error when he got her father's foot. TnE man wvho gave a boy a shilling to hold his shadowv while he ascended a tree to look into the middlo of next wveek has failed. The Washington ilNmuAnent. The huge obelisk which is- in course of erection at the Capital, costs a thou. sand dollars a foot, and it goes towards heaven at the rate of four or five feet a month, and consequently requires a monthly expenditure of four or five thou sand dollars. While the work goes on, there is, of course, a steady drain upon the treasury; but the receipts fluctuate, and have of late so much fallen ofi thit unless the subscriptions speedily and inn terially increase the work must ap.- It should be borne in mind that the blocks which have been forwarded to Washing ton by the diffierent States of the Union, and by other countries, though they add much to the interest of the monument, contribute very little to its bulk and height, and diminish the cost of each course of masonry only in a very slight degree. To complete the monument will require a sum which, if contributed in equal -pro portion by the citizens of the United States, would tax each individual to the amount of Three Cents, and yet the sub scription languishes, and the building, committee is embarrassed. The- ladies finished the Bunker Hill Monument, and and it may perchance be theirs to bring the present enterprise to completion. We learn from the Boston Transcript that there is a rival in the field. The prelimi nary arrangements for the erection of a monument on Plymouth Rock, to the memory of the Pilgrim Fathers, are in progress, and the sons of New-England, in all parts of the country, will soon be called upon to contribute. One at a time, say we. Let not the claims to hon or of the Father of his Country and the Fathers of New England be brought into ,nything that even. looks like competi rion. Orxrzoxs IN WAsHINGTO.-The Washington correspondent of the.Charles on Mercury says: " The proceedings of the South.Caro ina Convention attract great iterest. 'he opening address of Gov. Means has .xcited great admiration; as it ought to. t was nobly: conceived and beastifh* *NliaIm N puli l 6 tI e i upposed that the policy indicated i: h fommittee's report will be adopted. 'Next ,o decided action in all cas'es 6 invaded -ights, the expression of the principle, d avowal of a determination to carry it ut when praiticable, is the best thing to )e done. Since the result of the popular ote last fall, it was not expected that 5outh Carolina would immediately se :ede, as was at first contemplated." ELECTRIC CLOC.-The Boston Jour ial describes as one of the curosities of ho age an electric clock, recently com dleted by Mr. N. Farmer on an entirely iew principle, and pronounced by scien ile men to be the most perfect and sim !1e of any. All wheel-work in the time ceeping part is dispensed with, therefore dl friction is overcome. The time-keep ng part of the clock is simply a pendu um, an electro magnet, and two ama ures. The vibration of the pendulum areak and close the circuit of electricity, while the combined action of the electro nagnet and armatures keep it in motion. It is a clock that runs without weights r springs or anything of the kind. rts n~oving power is a galvanic battery, which requires a small quantity of sul phuric acid once or twice a year; or if the wvorkmanship of the clock is delicate, :i copper plate buried in the ground will keep it in motion. There is no friction to be overcome save the suspension points .of the pendulum, and the two amatures-Hence it approaches the mearest to perfection as a time-keeper of anything in existence. One hundred or i thousand clocks all over the city all ticking at the same instant, and keeping the same time, may be carried by the pendulum.___ EMANCIPATION OF SL.AVES IN Low.e uANA.-A lawv has passed the Louisiana legislature, and goes into effect in six months' tima, which prohibits the emanci pation-of slaves in that State, except up onl th~e express condition that they shall be sent out of the United States within tw~elve months; and requiring the pay ment of $150, to be deposited in the trea sury for each slave, to be applied in pay ment of passage to Africa, and support after, arrival. HOTErL RcsrorrszBILTs.-TWo bro thers, named Simons, who stopped at the [ndian Queen Hotel, New Orleans, on their way from California, and while there had their trunk robbed of 85,245 in gold; have recovered a judgment ,for. that amount against the proprietor. Judge Buchanan, of the Efth district court, de cided that inn-keepei-s are liable for the property stolen from strangers and travel loe sojourning at their inns. A MAERIED man who was out at a wvhist party, when he proposed going home was. urged to stay a little longer. "Well," he replied "perhaps I may as well; my wiife probably, is already as mad as she canh"