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BY FEATHERSTON & HOYT. ANDERSON COURTHOUSE, S. C., THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 1, 1860. VOLUME 1.?DUMBER ll Stories ?f Iradid fife. Leisure Moments. " Are you fond of reading, Mrs. Lee ?" said my good aunt Mary to a lady who sat plying the needle as industriously as if her bread depended upon her efforts. " Yes," was the reply, " but I can't find time for it." "Time!" exclaimed aunt^Iary, while her large brown eyes dilated with aston? ishment ; for she knew the lady was in easy circumstances?the wife of a physi? cian in good practice. "It is true," replied Mrs. Lee, in answer to my aunt's look of inquiry. i: I know you will think I might find time, but I really cannot ; it keeps me almost con? stantly employed to do our necessary sewing. How your daughter Alice can read as much as she docs I neve*?' could imagine; I find her with a book in her hand half the time, and yet she has three children, and I only one." " I might reply that one can find you quite as much of the time, with some bit of muslin, silk, or merino in your hand, tlurt will never repay you for a tenth of the time you expend upon it , Now I ad? mire ind^Rtry, my dear Mrs. Lee, as much as anyone, and I have often noticed how indefatigable you are with your needle; but/will you allow me to tell you that I think your energies greatly misdirected ? ' If you wouid not include sue1 fancy work in the necessary sewing you spoke of, be? lieve me, my dear, you will find plenty of tin>c for reading." "And yet one must have these things." answered Mrs. Lee with earnestness. "a,nd it would amount to no small sum if I were to purchase all I use. Indeed, I pridje myself not a little upon being able to atBf-ml- wiy awn-embroidery, and I as? sure you it is quite an item of expense saved." " And yet it is a sad thought," said aunt Mary, seriously, " that one must spend all their leisure moments in decorating the casket, without devoting any share to the improvement of the jewel it contains; __especially when we think of the lengt h of time each 'arc respeem ei} acstrncTi to en? dure. " Excuse me, dear," she continued, as she laid her hands tenderly upon her listener's arm; " excuse me if 1 speak plainly, for nothing but the interest I feel in you and your sweet little daughter should tempt me to incur the risk of of? fending you." -x " You do not offend me," said Mrs. Lee gently. " I know it takes a great deal of my time to do my ornamental sewing? especially for Ella's clothes. Perhaps I am wrong, but I have only one child, and it really affords me great pleasure to see her elegantly dressed." "But if this can be done at the expense of timo which should bo devoted to greater interests, you do yourself a wrong, and an injury to her you love. When your little daughter has arrived to years of under? standing, think you she would not a thou? sand time*? rather you had dressed her in plainer clothes, than to have deprived yourself of mental pleasures, and?it may ))C?to have neglected the proper devel opement and discipline of her mind ? She is a cliild of more than ordinary intelli? gence, and to guide aright a mind like hers?to watch with proper care the un? folding of that bud of promise?will re? quire that you should fortify and strength? en your own mind by a judicious course of reading and training which you can never acquire with your leisure moments so fully occupied. " So you would have me give up every? thing of this kind, would you ?" said Mrs. Lee. " Not everything," replied aunt Mary; " but let us sec if we cannot compromise. You carry the matter to extremes; even your husband's linen must have its deli cato vine of needle-work upon the bosom ^?and then your morning dresses and col? lars would tlo very nicely^ if they were not so elaborate^- embroidered; and as for Ella's clothes, I vonturo to assert there is scarcely an article in.her wardrobe that has not cost j'ou hours of unnecessary labor. A part of the time you spend in this way, my dear Mrs. Lee, you surely might devote to reading, and be wiser and happier by so doing. Let me advise you?set apart certain hours of each day for mental pursuits, consider them sacred to your own best intorests and those of your child and let no trifling circumstance cause you to infringe upon them." " Julia," exclaimed Dr. Lee, who had ontercl the room Tinpereoived, and now laid has hand genii}- upon his wife's shoulder, "this is excellent advice, and you knowr tho sentiments are my own, for you have often heard me express them. It is almost the only fault my wifo possesses," he continued, turning to aunt Mary, " but it is one I have sought in vain to assist her in correcting." " Don't, Alfred; pray do not say any more now," said Mrs. Lee imploringly; and the blue eyes she turned toward her husband were humid with tears. " I will try to do as you wish, and will commence to-day, with that new work on mcntnl culture which you brought me last week." ?'Thank you, my darling;" and with a pleasant smile Dr. Lee turned the sweet face toward his own. Bravely did the gentle wife fulfill her promise, and truly has she proved herself a suitable guide and instructor for the lit le Ella. Leisure moments! who can* tell their importance ? Who can estimate the bear? ing their use or misuse may have upon our future lives ? The Torn Pocket. "My dear," said Mr. Huston to his young wife, as he arose from the break? fast table, --I wish you would mend my overcoat pocket. The day is pleasant so that I can leave my coat off without in? convenience." "Tory well, my love," was tho reply, and a moment after the front door closed upon the husband, who departed to the store where he filled the [dace of a re? sponsible clerk. Mrs. Huston rose to attend her domes? tic affairs, and occupied in them, soon for? got the the torn pocket. About noon, she had finished her work, and having a spare hour before dinner, she sat down and took up a late novel, in this she continued to overlook the torn pocket, until the meal was over, and her husband again left the house; when going to look for the overcoat sin- found that he had put it on, the weather having grown cold? er. '?Oli I well, it will do to-night." said the wift?. -Jjl suppose he will scold when he finds I forgo! rr~?LiLL'..it can't be helped now." " '~"*"--w. Truth was, Airs. Huston was what called "a good easy woman." that is, she never intentionally harmed tiny one. but was only thoughtless and forgetful; her sins were those of omission. She found no ntmcnttrv im dismissing ;,u iiin.-;.iiiiortu ble thoughts concerning the torn pockety and resuming her novel, was soon in the miseries of the heroine. About dusk there came a ring at the bell. It was a magnetic ring, as iL were, and expressed anger and great tribula? tion, if not both, it made the somewhat nervous Mrs. HustOiLstart with a little shriek. She stopped reading and listened. Directly the servant opened the door, and the step of the husband was heard, but heavier and quicker than usual. Her heart unaccountably began to beat faster. "Oh ! dear," she said to herself, -what can be the matter!" She was not long left in doubt. Her husband came at once into the silting room, emotions of rage and suffering al? ternating perceptibly in his face. Fright? ened at a demeanor so unusual, the wile looked up, her lips parted in terror, una? ble to welcome him as usual. '?Sec what you have done !" cried Mr. Huston, passionately, taking oil' his over? coat, and turning the torn pocket inside out, and throwing the garment into the hearer's lap. "you have ruined me with your negligence." ?'What have I done?" gasped the wile. "Has ahythiug happened :" ?'Anything.-happened ? Didn't I lell you I was ruined ? 1 have lost ?500, and been discharged because I lost it, and all because you didu't mend my pocket. Xor is it the first time, as you know, that you have neglected to do what you ought. You are always forgetting. I have often told you that you would rue it some da}*." '?But how did it happen ? Can nothing be done ?" timidly said the wife, after a while. '?How did it happen ? In the most natural way possible. I had a. note to pay for the firm in this part of tho town. I brought the money up to dinner, and upon going out, put it in my Overcoat pocket, supposing that yon had mended the rent. When I reached the Bank the money was gone. It was then nearly three o'clock! Almost frantic. 1 came back within a lew steps of the doors, hoping to find the money on the pave? ment; it was madness, as I might have known. I looked again and again, asking everybody I met. At last I Avcnt back to the store. But the news had preceded me. The notaiy had already been there to protest the note ; and my employers would not hear one word of excuse. I was discharged on the spot." As he ceased speaking, he threw him? self on a chair by tho table, and buried his face in his hands. His discharge was indeed a terrible blow. Without fortune or an3*thing to depend on but his charac? ter, ho saw, in tho loss of his place, and consequent refusals of his employers to recommend him. a future full of disasters. And for what? All because his wife could not remember the simplest duty. No wonder in his hour of trouble that he turned away from her and buried his face in his hands. No wonder?that he felt angry with her, the author of his evil. For a while Mrs. Huston knew not what to do. Tears ran down her checks, but she feared to approach her husband. "He will drive me away," she said to her? self. '-Hut I have deserved it all." At last she ventured to approach him, and at last he was induced to listen. With many tears she promised never to be neglectful again. "It has been ? les? son to me," said she, "which I will never forget." Nor has she forgotten it. Years are past, and the Hustons arc now compara? tively well oft* for after a while Mr. Hus? ton obtained another situation, and final? ly became partner in the house. But to this day, when the wife sees ci? ther of her daughters negligent, she calls the offender to her, and tells a warn? ing story of the torn pocket. - A Little Hero. Grace Greenwood writes the following little story?and a true one it is?for "The Little Pilgrim." a child's paper. She gets the facts from an incident de? scribed in the Hartford Daily Times some years ago, as having happened in Colt's Meadows. In the city of Hartford. Connecticut, lives the hero of the true story I am about to relate?but no longer "little," as the perilous adventure, which made him for a time famous in his native town happened several years ago. Our hero was then, a bright active boy of fourteen?the son of a mechanic. In the severe winter of IS?. the father worked in a factory, about a mile and a half from Ids home, and every day, the hoy carried him his dinner, across a wide piece of meadow lanct. One keen, frosty day, he found the snow on this meadow nearly two feet deep, and no traces of the little loot path remaining. Yet he ran on, as fast ns jmra'lt'e?iiiuuit?, jjU?jA^^-r^^rTrr^?"Keeping himself wann by vigorous exercise, and brave cheerful thoughts. When in the midst of the meadow?ful? ly half a mile from any house, he sudden? ly felt himself going down, down, down! He had fallen into a iccU! He sunk down into the dark, icy water, but roso immediately to the surface. There ho had grasped hold of 21 plank, which had fallen into the well as he wont down. One end of this rested on the bottom of the well?the other rose about four feet above the surface of the water. The poor lad shouted for help until he was hoarse and almost speechless, but all in vain, as it was impossible for him to make himself heard for such a depth, and, at such a distance from any house. So at last he concluded that if he was to be saved at all he must save himself, and be? gin at once, as he was getting extremely cold in the water. So he went to work. First, he drew himself up the plank and braced himself against the top of it and the wall of the well, which was of brick, and quite smooth. Then he pulled off his coal, and taking his pocket-knife, cut off his boots, that be might work to greater advantage. Then, with his feet against on.' side of the well, and his shoulders against the other, he worked his way up. the most fearful exertion, about half the distance to the top. Here he was obliged to pause, take breath and gather up his energies for the work yet before him. Far harder was it than all he had gone through, for the side of the well being from that point completely covered with ice, he must cut with his knife grasping places for his fingere, slowly and careful? ly, all the way up. It was almost a hopeless attempt, but it \va3 all he could do. And here the little hero lifted up his heart and prayed fer? vently for help, fearing he could never get out alone. Doubtless the Lord heard his voice, calling from the deeps, and pitied him. He wrought no miracle to save him, hut breathed into his heart a yet larger mea? sure of calmness and courage, strengthen? ing him to work out his own deliverance. It is in this way that God oftonost an? swers our prayers, when we call upon him in time of trouble. After this, the little hero cut his way upward, inch by inch. His wet stockings froze to the ice and.kept his feet from slipping, but his shirt was quite worn from his shoulders, ere he reached the top. He did reach it at last?crawled out into the snow, and lay down for a moment to rest?panting out his breathe, in little white clouds, on the clear frosty air. He had been two hours and a half in the well! His clothes were froze to his body?but he no longer suffered with cold, as, full of joy and thankfulness, he ran on to the factory, where his good father was wait? ing and wondering. The poor man was obliged to go with? out his dinner that day?but }*ou may be Sure he cared little about that, while lis? tening, with teara in his eyes, to the thrilling story his son had to relate to him. He must have been very proud of the boy that day, as he wrapped him up in his own warm overcoat, and took him home to " mother." And how that mother must have wept and smiled over the lad, and kissed him, and thanked God for him! T have not heard of the i: little Hero," for two or three years, but I.trust he is growing up into a brave heroic man?and I hope he will never forgot the Heavenly Friend who did not forget him in the hour of his great need. There is an old saying that truth lies at the bottom of a well. I trust that this bravo boy found and brought up from there, this truth?God lid}"* those who help themselves. -i-* Marrying an Editor. Tos, I'm Mrs. Peter Snow, an editor's wife. I well remember the day when Mr. Snow asked me to become his wife. I confess. I liked Mr. Snow. and. thinking it would he a very fine thing to be an ed? itor's wife, I said 'yes,' as pretty as I knew how, and I became Mrs. Snow. I have seen ten years of married life, and find my husband to be an amiable, good natured man. He always spends his j evenings at home, and is. in that respect, j a model man ; but he always brings home I piles of exchanges, which is only limited j by the length of his arms, and reads, while I patch the knees and elbows of our ' boy's pantaloons and coat. After we have had a Quaker meeting of an hour's length, I break the silence by asking: 'Mr. Snow, did you order that coal I spoke to you about Y '"What did you say, my dear?' he asks, after a few moment's silence. <71U ?.-Ali nvdnr.Jliat r??-il T <i>f-?1.?ntv> i-qji.. about V 'Indeed, my dear, I am sorry, but I forgot all about it. It shall come to-mor? row.' Another hour's silence, which is re? lieved by the baby's crying, and, rather liking to hear a noise of some sort, I make no effort to quiet him. 'My dear.' says Mr. Snow, after he has cried a minute or so, 'you had better give the 'baby some catnip tea to quiet him; he troubles me.' 'The baby is still; another hour p&sses without a breath of noise. Becoming tired of silence. I take a lamp and retire for Ihe night, leaving Mr. S. so engaged with his paper that he docs not see me leave the room. Toward midnight he comes to bed, and just as he has fallen to sleep, the bain* takes a notion tr cry again. I rise as quietly as possible, and try Lo still him. "While I am walking the room with a small Snow in my arms, our next?a boy of three years?begins to scream at the top of his lungs. What can I do ? There is no other course but to call Air. Snow, so I call out: 'Mr. Snow! Mr. Snow! 'The third time he starts up, and re? plies : ?What, Tim, more copy?' ?As though I was Tim, that little imp running about the office, I reply, rather tartly: \> o, I don't want any more copy?I have had enough of that to last me my lifetime?I want you to sec what Tommy is crying about. 'Mr. Snow makes a desperate effort to rouse himself; as Tommy stops to take a breath, ho falls asleep again, leaving me to pice the room in as much vexation ?s I can comfortably contain. The next morning at breakfast, when I give Mr. Snow an account of last night's adven? ture, ho replies: 'Ixlccd, my dear, I am very sorry the children troubled you.' 'This is always the way. If I com? plain, it is, 'indeed, my dear, I am very sorry*.' ' But should the very same thing occur the subsequent night, directly before his eyes, very likely he would not see or know anything about it, unless it happen? ed to interrupt his train of ideas. Then ho would proposo catnip tea; but before I can get it into the infant's stomach, he will be faraway into the rea.ms of thought, leaving me not a littlo vexed at his stu? pidity. 1 Mr. Snow knows the nature of every paper published in England and tho Uni? ted States, but ho cannot, for the life of him, tell the names of his children. He kne ws precisely the years of every Amer? ican journal, but he docs not know the age of Iiis own baby. lie knows how ev? ery contributor looks, but I do not be? lieve he can tell whether my eyes are black or blue. ' The world says Mr. Snow is getting rich. All I know is, he gives me money to clothe our boys, and that, too, without a complaint of poverty. I hope the world is right in opinion, and when I am satisfied it is, I shall advise him to resign his editorial honors, and spend a few months in becoming acquainted with his wife and children. The little ones will feel much flattered in making the ac? quaintance of so literary a man.' -? The "Wheel of Life.?Man-is the most destructive of beings. He pursues the great leviathan within the polar circle to light his home. He ransacks the sea and land in every latitude; he slays and plun? ders with unsparing hand. He enslaves the horse, camel, and elephant, he robs and slaughters the ox, the sheep, the swine, the bee, the beaver, and the worm; the fowls do not escape him, and he levies taxes on everything taxable. In this manner he gathers his food and his rai? ment, the balsam of his diseases, and the fuel that cheers his hearth. Despite the ravages of diseases, and violent and nat? ural deaths he increases in number, every season opens to him as bountiful a supply as before. In civilized lifo he is often a prey to numborless accidents, to the beasts of the fields, and the monsters of the deep. If he escape these, at the last he becomes food for worms. Man cats his mutton, and the lion eats man. One law encircles, directs, and confines all created beings?each within its proper sphere. The evil that befitls one, the oth? er cannot escape?disease and death arc the lot of all. -* The Advantages of Necessity.?If every man were wise and virtuous, capa? ble to disccYn the best use of time, and resolute to practice it, it might be grant? ed, we think, -without hesitation, that to? tal liberty woidd he a blessing; and that it would he desirable to be left at large to the exercise of rcj.igious and social duties, without the hiterrn^'o"' r-Tliirportunatc avocations. ._ But since felicity is relative, and that which is the means of happiness to one .man ma}- he to another the cause of mise? ry, we are to consider, what state is best adapted to human nature in its present degeneracy and frailty. And. surely, to the far greater number it is highly expe? dient, that they should by some settled scheme of duties, be rescued from the ty? ranny of caprice; that they should be driven on by necessity through the paths of life, with their attention confined to a stated task, that they may be less at leis? ure to deviate into mischief at the call of folly. Pleasure of Contentment.?I have a | rich neighbor who is always so busy that he has no leisure to laugh; the whole business of his life is to get money, and more money. He is still drudging on. saying that Solomon says, "The diligent hand maketh rich." And it is true, in? deed; but he considers not that it is not I in the power of riches to make a man I naPP.V) f?r was w'scly said by a man of great observation, '-that there be as many miseries beyond riches as on this side of them." "Wc sec but the outside of the rich man's happiness; few consider him to be like the silkworm, that, when she seems to play, it is at tho very same time spinning her own bowels, and "consuming herself. And this man}' rich men do? loading themselves with corroding cares, to keep what they have already got. Let us, therefore, bo thankful for health and competence, and above all, for a qui? et conscience. --e|* JuntiE not'Rashly.?Alas! how unrea? sonable as well as unjust a thing it is for any to censure the infirmities of another, when we sec that even good men are not able to dive through the mystery of their own! Be assured there can be but little honesty, without thinking as well as pos? sible of others, and there can be no safety without thinking humbly and distrustful? ly of ourselves. -? The Best Medicine.?Good, wholc soma food, and temperance, with pure, cold water to drink and bathe in, with fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a clear conscience, arc said to do more to restore or preserve health, and prolong life, than every doctor and medicine in the uni? verse. -O Our Common Indebtedness.?Of those whom Providenco has qualified to make any additions to human knowledge, the number is extremely small; and what can be added by each single mind, oven of this superior class, is very little. The greater part of mankind must owe far the larger part of it. to the information of others. Mechanics' Wives. Speaking of the middle ranks of life, the solid and best portion of society, ? modern writer makes the following ex cellent remarks: -There we behold woman in all her* glory ; not a doll to carry silks and jew? els; not a puppet to be flattered by profane adoration; always jostled out of the plac? which nature and society would assign her, by sensuallity or contempt; admired, but not respected ; desired, but not es* teemed; ruling by passion, not affection; imparting her weakness, not her constan? cy, to the sex she would exalt; the source and mirror of vanity; we see her as a wife; partaking tho cares and cheering the an? xiety of a husband, dividing his toil by her domestic diligence, spreading cheerfulness ' around him for his sake- sharing the de? cent refinements of the world without be? ing vain of them, placing all her joys and her happiness in the man she loves. As a mother, we find her the affectionate, the ardent instructress of the children Whorii she has tended fromtheir infancy, training them up to thought and virtue, to piety and benevolence; addressing them as ra? tional beings, and preparing them to bc^ come men and women in their turn. Such mothers' daughters make the best wives in the world." -? Firmness of Purpose. A firm, energetic purpose,- and a steady object of pursuit, arc the inevitable pre? ludes to success. It is not the half form? ed determination to resist, and the un? strung nerve, that defeat the enemy in battle, and send him subdued from the field; but it is tho bold determination and the steady nerve that accomplish the purpose. Men in all ages of the world hare un? derstood and practiced upon this priciplc; they have gone forth to the battle field with trembling step and coward hearts, ready to yield to the first charge from their enemy; for they have known that if they would conquer they must not fal? ter, but fight on, having for their watch? word victory or death. "Would that men . would aet time in the field ofiife. We_ shf>rrld.iiot then sec. noatrng no win" the stream of time in calm content, trusting their worldly fortune to chance, like, the unsilked pilot, who watches upon the shores of time for vic? tims to destroy. Strange it is that men embark upon the sea of time with such a blind guide, and no rudder to direct their course. Are their time and talents of so little conse-. quence that it matters not how' they are used ? -*-: Looking for Happiness.?Step into the street and ask .the first man you meet ? what he is thinking about, and if he an? swers you correctly, it will be. future hap? piness, or that which he thinks will pro? mote his happinesS. So of the thousands who pass 3-011 day by day. One inquires ?How can I accumulate gold ? Another ?How shall I acquire fame? A third? What shall I do to obtain the good will and respect of mankind ? But few indeed ?not one in a thousand perhaps?would make the inquiry?Where can I find .vir? tue ? how can I obtain religion ? where is God and Heaven ? Among the count? less throng who arc searching for happ' ncss, scarcely one looking in the right place and asking of the correct source. The tinsel and glare of the world?its gold and its ambition?urge people on in the intricate and thorny paths of life, un? til they become disgusted and painfully declare?there is no happiness here. Ah, if they but sought for virtue and Heaven we should hear less complaints, and life, instead of being a wearisome abode, would be the glorious prelude to a_ bh>_s-_, ed and eternal existence. The Home oe Taste.?How easy it is to be neat?to be clean! How easy to arrange the rooms with the most graceful propriety. How easy it is to invest our houses with tho truest elegance. .Ele? gance resides not with the upholsterers or the draper; it is not in the mosaic-;, the carpetings. the roso wood, the mahogany, the candelabra, or the marble ornaments; it exists in the spirit presiding over the chambers of the dwelling. Contentment must always bo most graceful; it sheds serenity over the scene of its abode; it transforms a waste into a garden. The home lighted by these intimations of a no? bler and brighter life may be wanting in much which the discontented desire; but to its inhabitants it will be a place, far outvieing tho oriental in brilliancy and SlorF' _^_ Bad Soil.?He that sows his grain up? on marble will have many a hungry belly before his harvest. -? A friend proposes to send us a gray eagle. We should rather have a yellow one.