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Tcmplts XHisctllaiifons. Ldi LfU : t : t -lilting (Carts. M. s. WAKD Hi r A Proprietor. VOL, I. A. I. IMKTr.EY, Publisher. 44 THE PANOLA STAR." IS PUBLISHED KVKRY WEDNESDAY, AT IMXOLA, Miss. TKIIMS. For one year If paid in advance, 00 If paid within six month A ft or six months, i Kate ol Alvci'tihi. One square, first insertion, M 00 Each subsequent insertion, 50 For throe months, f 00 Fur six months N 00 For one year 1 (() A liberal deduction made for larger ad ertise:iieiit. JOB WO .i K Of all description.-, from largo hand bills to fancy cards, done with neatness and despatch, and on reasonable tonus. ' All communications must he addressed to M. S. Ward, Ksi., Fa in da, .Miss. I'OE TRY, (From Dillon's Vjrtttr'ml .) TO M A V . I'.V W.M. II. M'OUKS. I h ive loved thee -1 have lot tit.-".-! "Wonts of anguish twVr can tell, All the feelings that are riven, And within my brom swell. N"H" so hlest, 1ut must awaken, Soon or later from the sjx ll, 'I'll it surrounds thr on- t'oysak n. i'.v th loved--the loed too well. We iiave parted, and th" morrow Wakes the anguish of to-day: Salt'- rini in silent sorrow, Hitter jians of misery. (o thy way, in sorrow hme in ', b avo m to my d th of w f, I would not that those hould"st I'e-trn To my Kind's convulsive throe. I wo-iM hid 1 vith".n my hosom All its hittern ss and :t'n- -II; I the ttitll'uilig .seno of madness, Stealing through my reeling brain. Thou hast ni'ver known the fullness Of the le-art that e'ung to thve Th 'ii, th li-ht of tny exist- ne , And of my d irk d vtiny. Ja: le b.u-de'd ley h. -ait's eoirpiainiug, Hushed it's anguish and despair, M x kfd its woe by calmly wearing An unnilih'd, yiiet uin l' g.iZi'l on thee, and turned to thee, Tlio-i wns't my earth my heaven Thoughts wildly struggling to he free, Were from my full In-art riven. I'.iU 'tis past and unavailing llarsts the sih, and rolls the tear; Pride's with'n my hosom struggling With th passion of despair. Th n farewell! no longer mourning O'er the dark. Unpleasant theme, Swift my spirit is returning, 'To my youth's first, brightest dream. lream of joy! thoa droatu of gladness! Vision of seraphic peace, Drive, () drive this fatal madness From its last abiding plaee. Wake the eelioi's softlv stealing, I -epiwt music to my soul: Mark th" power divin dy healing. " O'r its troubled passions roll. Ki, my soul, in strength reviving, Turn the.; from thy bitter woe; 1 t not life be spent in mourning One f.iir image lost below. Duty call thee stern, relentles.-', Higher, nolder passions call, WouldM thou be a slave forever V Spurn the soul-benumbing thrall. Th n, on morning-pinions, mounting, Seek the light, the heat, the sun Th .Te in soul-bithed beauty rest thee, From thy task most nobly won: I would mount the hill of glory, Where sweet tones of music ring; List the voice of passioned story, Swctt'y where the muses sing. There no more shall misery pain thee, There shall woe be turned to bliss In the mystic halls of glory Naught there reigns but happiness. Then farewell all other visions, Visions, save of future fame; On the sh'ning portals, write thee, Write thee there thy humble name. INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT. " Modern Philosophy anon, Will, at the rate she's rushing on, - Yoke lightning to her rail road car, And posting like a shooting star, Swift as a solar radiation, Hide the jrreat circuit of creation." " Three, John, that's twice you have come home and forgotton that lard." "Well, really mother, it .was so greasy that it slipped my mind." SELECT VIECTCS (From Ballou's Pictorial.) 'lUTf 1 4 -r x i- ... . BY fVLVAM'S conn, JR. Lvbi.v l)F.AnnoKx at alone in her little sitting-room, and her countenance was sad and desponding. She was not over twenty-six, and though her face was pale and wan, yet she was beautiful. A warm lire burned in the grate, for it was winter, and the lump upon the centre-table was lighted, for it was evening. She sat thus, tryittg to read, whett the door Was opened, and a stranger entered. She started up with fear at thus seeing a strange man en ter her apartment unbiddeJn 4 Lydia don't you know iiic'r" The woman started ait the sound of the voice, and the iVooJ rushed to Iter brow and temples. She took a step forward an 1 gazed more sharplv into the intruder's face. "James:-" .-hc mu: mured, interroga tively. " Yes. my sister. Did'ntyou know me V" Jhit, instead of answering in words. Lydia rushed forward and sank upon the man's bosom, atid tiioTe Mie Wept for jov. It was in truth, her own brother. " And you didn't know nier" he said, with a smile, after he had taken a seat. Why no, James. Five years have al tered you wonderfully. Uut then that beard all over your face makes a good deal oT diflerehCV " All the difference in the world, fister. Two years ago, while my ship lay at Can ton, I had my beard all shaved off, and wh'-n I came aboard, some of mv Own no-n did Jiot know me at first." "Then I wish yhu would phave it Off now. for yon look htore like a bear, than you do tike J.imes t'arrows.' The brother laughed, and then the con versation ran for awhile upon various topics suggested by the return of the loved one. James P.arrows was now about 32 years of age, and hnd been absent frCm hi native city for five veiirs, during which time he had been in command of a fine hip. "Hy the Way,'- said the brother, at the nd of half an hour, " I stopped in New York on my way here, and I saw Kate Waldvon there. She told me she heard von sav vou wi-hed vour husband had neer known m. D'.d you ever say such rt thing as that r" Lydia's eye- filled with tent in a mo ment, and a deep sob broke from her lips. Her brother was startled. He moved to her side, an l put his arm about h-r neck. "What is it, my sister he asked, anx lousiy. " Alas, James, I will tell you. Tint first let io assure you that I did not mean exactly what I said to Kate. You remem ber live vears a 20, when vou used to tell such stories about "ambling scenes on the Mississippi. Ambrose asked you to teach him to play pohvr, as you called it. You taught him the game, and in one or two evening! Vou went w ith him to some social card parties." " Yes, yes I remember all that." " Well ttie spirit of gambling is now fastening itself upon him. I can sec it plainly, though he tries to laugh away my fear--. I know it is so1, fdr 1 have been told by one who is my friend, and who told me (flit of pure friendship for Am b;ose. But 1 have net Vet dared to let him know how sure my information is, fo'r lie V-o(i!d be angry, did he know that any one had told this to me. 0, I know bis impetuous natttre, and I fear he will be lost ere he is aware of it. F-vil com panions are leading him astray. He thinks theiti j'neiidst' " And do vou think he has gone to the Card-table to-night V" " I atii afraid so Atid if He tides 0, I dare not think of it. He has much money with him. Before you came I was weeping over my fearfi I have never let him know how much 1 knew concerning his course, for I feared 'twould only make him more excited. Alas! I know not what to do I do not think he has yet lost much, but I knmw that he will never leave the fascinating habit until he is ruined unless something can be done to move him." "By irtv soul, Lydia," returned the cap tain, warmlv, "I did learn Ambrose to plav though God knows I never meant to teach him to gamble and I will cure him now if I can. Do you think he is at it now V" ' I think he would have been at home before this time, if he had not fallen in with some of his evil associates. " Then you rest here tthile I go and find him. By my soul, I'll save him if I can." " But you'll come back soon?" James stopped and thought for a mo ment. . , ,f h a said. "But don you be worried. No harm shall befall Ambrose to-night. I'AXOIA COUXTY, MISS., W It was just nine o'clock as Ambrose Dearborn entered one of the gaming sa loons of the city. His busiaess had kept him later than usual, and having made fifteen dollars in trade since dark, he had determined to stake that amount upon the altar of fortune. His wife was right in her fears. The card tabic had gained a fascinating power over him, and he had lost some heavy sums. But oti the pre vious evening he had been cursed with a turn of winning luck, and had won back very nearly as much as he had lost, and he was now on his way to continue his luck. He meant only to play an hour or so, and then go home. He went up to the sideboard and took a glass of wine, and as he turned he la-held a stranger, who had seemingly yojne for the same purpose. " !ood evening,-'' said the stranger, in a pleasant, tone, sis he poured out a tumb ler full of water, from the pitcher, and drank it. Ambrose returned the salutation. " I came in to take a few moments' re creation at cards," said the stranger, "but I filld no friends hem" " So did I," answered Ambrose, " and mv friends are missile'." just b p;Hs away the time utstil others come,' With pleasure," said Dearborn. And accordingly the two sat down, and were soon on the most friendly terms.- The cards were dealt, and for awhile the playing was on a small 'scale, and the luck about even. By-and-by Ambrose be gan to wih, and he went on until he hud won over a hundred dollar. He would have felt ashamed, somewhat, had not his antagonist maintained such rood hu mor, and smiled so kindly when he lost. But anon the luck changed. Ambrose lost all he had won-, and soon lost Over a hundred dollars beside. He had just one hundred dollars more in his port-inonraie, and this he took Out-. A new hand was dealt, he cut the cards carefullv and he held four jacks. 'Twas the best hand by far that had been out during the game, it being the first " four of a kind," he had seen durirtg the evening. lie bet ten dollars; His antagonist covered it and went ten higher. 'I have an excellent Imnd," the strang er said, With a light laugh; " I have held better ones, but this is good. I shall bet high on it." Ambrose did not speak; He Was excit ed, lie was afraid his antagonist would mistrust how good his hand was, and stop betting. But the betting went on until Ambrose had placed his last fraction of the hundred on the table: "Shall I" go higher:-" asked the strahgeti " As yr'u please;" Then I must say ahuiuhc t better. By the trump of trumps yon shall have a chance to make a pile this time." Ambrose hesitated a moment, and then he placed his hand in his bosom and drew forth it package of bank notes. There were four thousand dollars in the whole. It was a sum he had drawn from the bank that very day. It was the accumulation of over four years1 labor and economy, for the purpose of paying for his house and store, lie drew out a hundred dollar hill, and covered his antagonist's last stake. Hehesilated a moment more, aud then he drew another hundred and went that over. The stranger covered the hun dred, aiid weht fire hundred better; Am brose covered the five hundred, but he dared bet no more, and he called for his companion's hand. The straiiger siiiiled as he showed it four queens! Ambrose, uttered a deep groan as he folded his cards and placed them on the pack. " By 1y sdiil, tlirit hard, my friend. But better luk next time: ee-irte I'll deal for you this time." A new hand was dealt, and this time Ambrose won a hundred ddllarsi He Oe gaii to retire Next he won two hundred more. He went arid got another glass of wine, and then returned in better spirits. But at the next hand he lost five hundredi His spirits i sank again". But he was now resolved to play carefully, and win back what he had lost, and then stop. There is no need of following the game step by step. The man who held those cards was not a professed gambler, nor did he now gamble at all for his own amusement. But he had been among fl-amblers much, and he could handle cards as he pleased And more still, he could handle a nervous, excitable man as he pleased. He kept Ambrose in good hu morlet him have occasional flashes of luck and finally, just as the clock struck eleven, Ambrose Dearborn staggered up from the table, penniless! All, all was o-one. His four thousand dollars the sum which wad to hare cleared him from debt the sum which he had seen eteadily growing beneath his efforts for the last four years was now swept away. The voting merchant staggtred from the E D E S I) A Y , JULY 23, I85li. hall he tried to borrow first, to borrow something to commence again, in the hope of winning back something, but no one would lend. He made his way to the street, and without noting his way he staggered on. He turned down upon the wharf, and sat down upon an old spar. He had been there but a few moments, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.- He looked Up, and by the moonlight he could see the dark face of the man who had ruined him. Why do you sit here in the snow ?" asked the stranger. " Leave me !" cried Ambrose, bit terly. "O, 1 neVer Would see vou more from this time." " Hut perhaps 1 may help you," re plied the other. lou are young cnoujrh to b-arn." "Lear O, jrreat heaven! and have t not learned this night what never -never The vonng man hurst into tears, and his sobs were deep and painful. " Come, eome," spoke the stranger, " stand up t;ud trust me, and I may yet help you." There was something so kind in the voice that Ambrose could not resist, and he arose to his feet. "Ambrose Dearborn," ?poke the strange man, " I have this evening taken from you over forty-two hundred dollars, and I do not think you can afford to lose it. Here wc are, before Mod. Now promise me, upon your honor as a man, that you will never stake any amount at hazzurd again that never agairrtwilljou play at any game of chtthee for the value of any thing, aud I will restoiv. to you every penny 1 have won from you to-night." The young man stood for a moment like a man in a dream. Then he caught his companion by the arm. "You do not trifle!" he said, in a hoarse whisper. "Oivc me th" pvoinic and see." Ambrose clasped his hands, and turn ing his eyes towards heaven, he made an oath embracing just the proposition which had been made to him ; and when he had done, his eyes sank to the snow-covered earth, and lie burst into tears. The stranger took a roll from his pocket, dhd handed it over. "Here is the full sum every penny just as I took it from you. And now let us walk up into the city again. My way is toward Adams street." " 80 i3 mine-," whispered Ambrose, as he clutched the monev. " Hut tell me what this means," the young man uttered, " who are you sir ?" 1 " Never mind how. I shall see you ! again, and then I will explain. Hut j let us be on onr wav, for it is cold here." On the way the stranger kept up such a rattle of conversation, that Am brose not only had no chance to men tion the subject of the evening's trans action, but by the time lie had reached his own door, his feelings had got back into their wonted channel. " I would invite you in," he said, but-" "Never mind, just let me step into the entry, for I want a light." Of course Ambrose could not object to this, and as he opened his door the stranger followed him in. lie walked through the hall, and, as lie opened the door of the sitting-room, his com panion was at his back. Lydia sat at her table, and her face was pale, but she had not been crying, for the words her brother had spoken to her before he had left her, inspired her with a strange hope. She arose to her feet, and while her husband was wishing that his Companion had re mained in the hall, he was not a little startled to hear the said individual speak somewhat jocularly as follows : Well, sissyj you cee I've brought him. And we are both of us all right, I can assure you" , For a moment the young man was thunder-struck, but the truth quickly flashed upon him. "Jim Jim Bar rows ?" ho gasped. " Captain Barrows, at your service sir. na, na, na--you man t know me. He's just found me out, Lydia." Ambrose: tried to laugh, but could not. ; lie struggled a moment with the feelings tndt Welled up in his bosom, and then sinking down in a chair, he burst into fears. His wife uttered a quick cry, and started forward. " Don't be afraid," gasped Ambrose. "I'm safe safe. But I can't help this. Tell her, Jimtell her all. Tell her all now, for she's a right to know." The stout captain drew his sister upon his kliee, and then related to her all that had happened since he left her. "Ah, Am," he' concluded, "the moment I saw you take the second hundred dollars from your port-mon-naie, I know gaming would soon ruin you ; and when I saw you draw the package, I only knew I should take them every one from you, and that any experienced card-jdayer could have done the same. Now I taught you your first lesson in poker this is lesson numhrr two, hope it may work well." And it did work well. Captain Bar rows remained with his sister a month, and then he went away. At the end of a year he came again, and this time he found Lydia as happy as a princess. Twelve Ways of Committing Suicide. 1. Wearing of thin shoes and cotton stockings on damp nights, and in cool, rainy weather. Hearing insufficient clothing, and especially upon the limbs and extremities. 2. Leading a life of enfeebling, stuph laziness, and keeping the mind in an unnatural state of excitement bv read ing trdshv novels. Goiinr to theatres parties and balls in all sorts of weath er, 111 me tmnuest possible dress. Pancinflr, till 111 a complete perspira tion, and then going home, without uthcient over-garments, through the cool, drtmp air. ?. Sleeping on feather beds in seven- bv-mne bed-rooms, without ventila tion at the top of the windows, and especially with two or more persons in the same small, unventilated bed room. 4. Surfeitingon hot and very stimu lating dinners. Eating in a hurry, without half-masticating your food, and eating heartily before goingTto bed every night, when the mind and body are exhausted by the toils of the day and the excitement of the even- in ir. 5. beginning in childhood on" tea and coffee, and going from one step to another through chewing and smoking tobacco, and drinking intoxicating liquors. Hy personal abuse, and physical and mental excesses of every description. G. Marrring in haste aild getting an uncongenial companion, and living the remainder of lite in mental dis- atisfaction. Cultivating jealousies and domestic broils, and always in a mental ferment. 7, Keeping children quiet by giv ing paregoric and cordials, by teach ing them to suck candy, and by sup- minir them with raisins; nuts and rich cake. When they are sick, by !ng them mercury, tartar emetic and arsenic, under the mistaken notion fhat they arc medicines, and not irri tant posions. 8. Allowing the love of gahi to ab sorb our mindsj so?s to leave-.no time to attend to our health. Following an unhealthy occupation because money can be made by it. 9. Tempting the appetite with bit ters and niceties when the stomach says Noj and by forcing food when nature does not demand, aiid even re jects it. 10. Contriving to keep in a contin ual worry about something or nothing. Giving way to fits of anger. 11. Being irregular in all our habits of sleeping and fating. Going to bed at midnight and getting up at noon. Eating too much, too many kinds of food, and that which is too highly seasoned; 12. Neglecting to take proper care of ourselves, and not apply early for medical advice when disease first ap pears. Taking celebrated quack medi cines to a degree of making a drug shop of the body. The above causes produce more sickness, suffering and death than all epidemics, malaria and contagion, combined with war, pestilence and famine. Nearly all who have attained to old age have been remarkable for equinamity of temper correct habits of diet, drink and ' rest for temper ance, cheerfulness and morality. Physical punishment is sure to visit the transgressor of nature's laws. All commit suicide and cut off many years of their natural life who do not observe the means for preventing disease and of preserving health. t- r- 1 -' An el tie xy gentleman, traveling in a stage, was amused by a constant fire of words kept up between two ladies. One at last kindly in quired if the conversation did,nt make his head ache? lie replied, 'fno, madam I have been married upwards of twenty years!" -' .0 ; ,. .1 j AO. 20. ' 1 BEAUTY. That is not the 11104 perfect beauty which, in public, would attract tbo greatest attention, nor even that which the statuary would admit to be a faultless piece of clay, kneaded up with . blood. But that is true beauty, which bas not only a sub stance, but a spirit a beauty that wo must intimately know, justly to appre ciate a beauty lighted up in conver sation, where the mind shines, as it were, 'through its casket; where, in t he language of the poet "The eloquent blood spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, "That wc might almost tsay her body thought." An order and a mode of beauty, which the more we know, the more we ac cuse ; ourselves for not having before discovered those thousand graces which bespeak that their own has a soul. This is that beauty which nev er cloys, possessing charms as resist less as the fascinating Egyptian, for which Antony wisely paid the bauble of the world a beauty like the rising of his own Italian suns, always en chanting, never the same. Selected. Print cis Printers, it is said die at an ear ly age. This is doubtless caused by the noxious cfiluvia rising from the types the want of exercise, constant employment, and the late hours to which their work is pro longed. There is no other class of human beings whose privileges ore so few, whose labors are so contin uous, Whose wages are so inade quate as printers. If a typo' be a man of family, he is debared of the privilege of enjoying their society at all times, because his hours' of labour are almost endless, and his moments of leisure so few that they must be spent to recruit his exhau sted energies, and prepare him for the renewal of toils. Poor fellow! he knows nothing of sociability, and is shut out from the world as a convict in a prison cell. Truly he is in the world yet knows not of it. Toil, toil, toil, by night and by day, is his fate, until premature old age ends his existence. For the advancement of science, nidra litv and rirture the chords of his heart arc sundered one by one, and when his race is run and time is no more, he goes down to the grave uncareu tor and unknown, though his existance has been sacrificed for the benefit of his race. When we hear mechanics crying out against oppression, and de manding certain hours for labor and rest wc cannot but reflect upon this situation of our own craft; how every moment of their lives is for ced into service to earn a bare sub- sistance,how uncomplainingly they devote themselves to the good of that same public, who wear them as loose garments, to be donned when convenient, and doffed when no. longer needed. Printers are universal y poor men and for two reasons. The first is they rarely ever receive a fair compensation for their services. And the secprid is that inured to continual suffering, privation, and foil, their purse strings are ever ilri- tied at the bidding ot charity, arid the hard-earned dimes'are freely distributed for.the relief of their fel low men. Thus it is that they live poor, and if a suitable reward does not await them after death, sad indeed must be the beginning, the existence, and the end of po typos'. A - writer In a love tale, in de scribing his heroine, says: "Innocence dwells lrf the rich tresses of her raven curls." A critic says he thinks it could be got out by the application of a ine-tooth comb. 1 An editor in Iowa has become so hollow from depending upon the printing business alone for bread, that he proposes to sell him self for stove-pipe at three cents a toot. . '.-. ... Young America "Mother, may I go in swiming'?' , "Uoandask your father," re plied the mother. , Is o, mother, voti askhim, vbu've been acquainted jvith him longer than I have." ,- . A country dentist advertises that he 44 spares no pains" to render his operations satisfactory. - " f J ! Hi ; f j :- ; ; i ? 7 I i J ' Si - : i "' ' ; ' i v : 1 i: 1 -? 1 1:1 t; i v V if ! f I 15! ,i. . Hi i Ml 1 ' MX iii 'Si t Mi' fi I : ;f ! i !!) s ir t t f 1 I I f I f I IV"