laid at her door
that would indeed damage a reputation with a fairer endorsement than New
York can give.

Our city at this moment is warmed into a singular state of excitement. A
Georgia editor (we regard editors as belonging to a very windy class of
men), not having the mightiness of our chivalry before him, said the
Union would have peace if South Carolina were shut up in a penitentiary.
And for this we have invited the indiscreet gentleman to step over the
border, that we may hang him, being extremely fond of such common-place
amusements. What the facetious fellow meant was, that our own State
would enjoy peace and prosperity were our mob-politicians all in the
penitentiary. And with this sensible opinion we heartily agree.

We regard our state of civilization as extremely enviable. To-day we
made a lion of the notorious Hines, the forger. Hines, fashioning after
our hapless chivalry, boasts that South Carolina is his State--his
political mother. He has, nevertheless, graced with his presence no few
penitentiaries. We feasted him in that same prison where we degrade and
starve the honest poor; we knew him guilty of an heinous crime--yet we
carried him jubilantly to the "halls of justice." And while
distinguished lawyers tendered their services to the "clever villain,"
you might have witnessed in sorrow a mock trial, and heard a mob
sanction with its acclamations his release.

Oh, truth and justice! how feeble is thy existence where the god slavery
reigns. And while men are heard sounding the praises of this highwayman
at the street corners, extolling men who have shot down their fellow-men
in the streets, and calling those "Hon. gentlemen," who have in the most
cowardly manner assassinated their opponents, let us turn to a different
picture. Two genteely-dressed men are seen entering the old, jail. "I
have twice promised them a happy surprise," says one, whose pale,
studious features, wear an expression of gentleness. The face of the
other is somewhat florid, but beaming with warmth of heart. They enter,
having passed up one of the long halls, a room looking into the
prison-yard. Several weary-faced prisoners are seated round a deal
table, playing cards; among them is the old sailor described in the
early part of this history. "You don't know my friend, here?" says the
young man of the studious face, addressing the prisoners, and pointing
to his companion. The prisoners look inquiringly at the stranger, then
shak