favor, like the doctor who advertises for the fifty ‘incurables,’ take special care to conciliate, rather than outrage, ‘public opinion.’  Is the doctor so ignorant of ‘public opinion’ in his own city, that he has unwittingly committed violence upon it in his advertisement?  We trow not.  The same ‘public opinion’ which gave birth to the advertisement of doctor Stillman, and to those of the professors in both the medical institutions, founded the Charleston ’Work House’—­a soft name for a Moloch temple dedicated to torture, and reeking with blood, in the midst of the city; to which masters and mistresses send their slaves of both sexes to be stripped, tied up, and cut with the lash till the blood and mangled flesh flow to their feet, or to be beaten and bruised with the terrible paddle, or forced to climb the tread-mill till nature sinks, or to experience other nameless torments.

The “Vicksburg (Miss.) Register,” Dec. 27, 1838, contains the following item of information:  “ARDOR IN BETTING.—­Two gentlemen, at a tavern, having summoned the waiter, the poor fellow had scarcely entered, when he fell down in a fit of apoplexy.  ‘He’s dead!’ exclaimed one.  ‘He’ll come to!’ replied the other.  ’Dead, for five hundred!’ ‘Done!’ retorted the second.  The noise of the fall, and the confusion which followed, brought up the landlord, who called out to fetch a doctor.  ’No! no! we must have no interference—­there’s a bet depending!’ ‘But, sir, I shall lose a valuable servant!’ ’Never mind! you can put him down in the bill!’”

About the time the Vicksburg paper containing the above came to hand, we received a letter from N.P.  ROGERS, Esq. of Concord, N.H. the editor of the ‘Herald of Freedom,’ from which the following is an extract: 

“Some thirty years ago, I think it was, Col.  Thatcher, of Maine, a lawyer, was in Virginia, on business, and was there invited to dine at a public house, with a company of the gentry of the south. The place I forget—­the fact was told me by George Kimball, Esq. now of Alton, Illinois who had the story from Col.  Thatcher himself.  Among the servants waiting was a young negro man, whose beautiful person, obliging and assiduous temper, and his activity and grace in serving, made him a favorite with the company.  The dinner lasted into the evening, and the wine passed freely about the table.  At length, one of the gentlemen, who was pretty highly excited with wine, became unfortunately incensed, either at some trip of the young slave, in waiting, or at some other cause happening when the slave was within his reach.  He seized the long-necked wine bottle, and struck the young man suddenly in the temple, and felled him dead upon the floor.  The fall arrested, for a moment, the festivities of the table.  ’Devilish unlucky,’ exclaimed one.  ‘The gentleman is very unfortunate,’ cried another.  ‘Really a loss,’ said a third, &c, &c.  The body was dragged from the dining hall, and the feast went on; and at the close, one of the gentlemen, and the very one, I believe, whose hand had done the homicide, shouted, in bacchanalian bravery, and southern generosity, amid the broken glasses and fragments of chairs, ’LANDLORD!  PUT THE NIGGER INTO THE BILL!’ This was that murdered young man’s requiem and funeral service.”