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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. OC0EWITE E. 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. BALATIHESt; oR' 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 Sshuddering. 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 rietors. 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. " summonthe scholars," 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 hung herself! 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 called." 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] EDGEFI] 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 my life.C 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 mniting suicide. "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 ,hildless. 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 incere Christian. 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 21, 1858. CONNUNICATIONS. For the Edgefield Advertisor. BAKS-" SALU."9 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 ~harlston. 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 P'LAIN.MAN. 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 of Providence. 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 never transpired. 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 merican statesmen. 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 passed. 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. Mr. Benton's. 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 thor. 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.) American. 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"