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that she resembled her mother, and that in
grace and accomplishment, she early surpass
ed her rotemporeries. I was desirous that her
mind should oe worthy of the splendid tempi
allot ted fir its habitation. I decided to render
it familiar with rt.e whole circle of the arts and
sciences. I <vas not satisfied with the com
ruendation of her teachers. 1 determined t->
take my seat in the sacred pavilion of intellect,
and superintend what entered there But how
should one buried beneath the ponderous tomes
and Sysiphean toils of jurisprudence, gam free
dem, or undivided thought, for such minute
jHinervision ? A father’s love can conquer, if
it cannot create. I deprived myself of sleep:
I sat till the div dawned, gathering materials
for the lectures that I gave her. I explored
the annals of architecture and sculpture, the
recesses of literature and poetry, the laby
rinthine and colossad treasure-houses of histo
ry,—l entered the ancient catacombs of the
illustrious dead, traversed the rigions of the
dim and shadowy past, with no coward step,—
ransacked earth and heaven, to add one gem
to her casket. At certain periods, 1 required
her to condense, to illustrate, to Combine what
1 had brought her. I listened, with wonder, to
her intuitive eloquence : I gazed with delight
upon the intellect that I thus embellished, —
upon the Corinthian capital that I had erected
and adorned Not a single acanthus leafstart
ed forth, but I cherished and fostered it with
the dews of a father’s blessing-
Yet while the outpoured riches of a mascu
line understanding were thus incorporating
themselves with her softer structure, I should
not have been content, unless she had also
borne the palm of female graceand loveliness.
Was it therefore nothing to me, that she evinc
ed in herbloom of youth, a dignity surpassing
her sex, that in symmetry she restored the im
age of the Medicean Venus, that amid the cir
cles of rank and fashion, she was the model
—the cynosure ? Still was she saved from
that vanity which would have been thedestroy
er of all these ch inns, by the hallowed preva
lence of her filial piety. It was jor my sake,
that she strove to render herself the most
graceful among women, — Jor my sake, that she
rejoiced in the effect of her attainments. Iler i
gentle and just nature felt that the “husband
man who bad laboured, should be the first
partaker ofthe fruits.” Returning Irum those
scenes of splendour, where she was the object
of every eye, the theme ot every tongue, when
the ' outhlul bosom might be forgiven for infla
tion from the clouds of incense that had breath
ed upon it, to the inquiry of her mother, if she
hud been happy, the tender and sweet reply
was, “ Yes,—because I saw that my dear fa
ther was so ”
Sometimes, I was conscious of gathering
toughness from the continual conflict with pas
sion and prejudice, and that the fine edge of
the feelings could not ever bo proof against the
corronions of such an atmosphere. Then I
sought my home, and called my bird of song,
and listened to tho warbling of her high, heavy
toned voice. The melody of that music fell
upon my soul like oil upon the troubled billows,
—and all was tranquil; I wondered where rny
perturbations had fled, but still more, that I
hid ever indulged them. Sometimes, the tur
moil and fluctuation of 'he world, threw a shade
of d joetion over me; then it was her pride to
smooth my brow, and to restore its smile.
On< e, a sorrow of no common order had tallen
upon me; n rankled in my breast, ike a dag
ger’s point; 1 came to my house, but I shun
ned all its imitates. I throw myself down, in
solitude, that I might wrestle alone with rny
fate, and subdue, it; a light footstep approached,
hut I heeded it not. A form of beauty was on
the sofa, by my side, but 1 regarded it not.
Then rny hand was softly clasped, breathed
U p on pressed to ruby lips. It was enough.
1 t< ok my daughter tn rny arms, and my Bor
row vanished. 11-id sho essayed the hack
neyed expressions wf sympathy, or even the
usual epithets of endearment, I might have
desired her to leave mv presence. Had she
uttered only a single word, it would have been
too much, so wounded was my spirit within
me. But the deed, the very poetry of tender
ness, breathing, not speaking, melted “the
wmier of my discontent-” Ever was she en
dued with that most exquisite of woman’s per
fections. n knowledge both when to be silent,
mid where to speak,—and so to speak, that the
frosts might dissolve from around the heart
she loved, and its discords be tuned to harmo-
ny.
Thus was she my ccmforter, and in every
hour of our intercourse, was my devotion to
her happiness richly repaid. Was it strange
that I should gaze on the work of my own
hands with inefftldc delight ? Al twilight I
quickened my homeward step, with the thought
ot th it countenance, which was both even
ing and morning star; as the bird nerves her
■weartvd wing, when she hears from the still
dis'ant forest, the chirpings of her own nest.
I sat in the house of God, in the silence of
sabbath meditation, and tears of thrilling ex
ultation moistened mv eyes I gazed upon
rnv glorious creature, m the stainless blossom
of unfolding vouth, and mv whole soul over
flow- d wuh a father’s pride. I said, what more
can man desire. ? I challanged the w hole earih
to add another drop to mv cupot felicity. Did
I forget to give glorv to the Almighty, that his
de tree even thee went forth, to smile down my
idol ?
t came from engrossing toil and found her
restless, with strange fire upon her cheek.
Fever hn«i lain rankling m h-r veins, and they
bad concealed it from me. I raved. I filled
inv house with physicians. I charged them
wildlv to restore her to health and to me. It
wa* in vain. It was in vain. Imw that God
had cla.nieC her. Hie will was written upon
her hjow. The paleness and damps ot the
tomb seized upon her.
I knelt bv the bed of death, and gave her
ba< k to her Creator. r\mid the tears and
gr <ans of m-’urneis. I lifte d up a firm voice.
.1 feaif il courage entered into mo I seem d
u iu»h even upon the buckler of tho Eterual.
I likened myself unto him who, on Mount Mo
ua, “stretched forth bis hand, and took the
knife to slay his son.” The whole energy of
my nature armed itself for the awful conflict.-
1 glned in my strength to suffer. With terri
fle sublimity, I stood forth, as the High Priest'
->f rny smitten and astonished household. I
gave the lamb in sacrifice, with an unshrinking J
hand, though it was my own heart's blood, that j
steeped, and streamed over the altar.
It was over. She had gone. She stayed
not for my embraces. She was permitted to
give me no parting-token. The mind that I
had adored, shrouded itself and fled. 1 knew
that the seal upon those eyes must not be
broken till the trump of the Archangel.
Three days and nights 1 sat by the dead.—
Beaut y I pgered there, in deep, and solemn,
and sacred repose. I laid my head upon her
pillow, I pressed my lips to hers, and their;
ice entered into my soul. I spoke to her of;
the angels, her companions. i talked long!
to the beautiful spirit, and methought it an
swered me. Thon I listened breathlessly,
but “there was no voice, nor any that regard
ed.” And still I wept not.
The fatal day came, in which even that clay
was to be no longer mine. The funeral kneel,
with its heavy, yet suppressed summons, came {
over me like the dividing of soul and body.— i
There was a flood of weeping, when that form, !
once so replete with every youthful charm, so
instinct with the joyous movements of the
mysterious principle of life, was borne in mar
ble stillness from its paternal halls. The eye
of the mother that boro her, even of the poor ■
menial that waited upon her, knew the luxury {
of tears. All were wet with that balm of sor
row, to overflowing— all save mine.
The open grave had a revolting aspect 1
could not bear that the form which I find wor
shipped should be left to its cold and hideous
guardianship. At the hollow sound ofthe first
failing clod, I would fain have leaped into the
pit arid demanded her. But I ruled myself.
I committed her to the frozen earth without a
tear. There was a tremendous majesty m
such grief. I was a wonder to myself.
I returned to my desolated abode. The
silence that reigned there was appalling.—
My spirit sank beneath it, as a sione goes
down into the depths ofthe ocean, bearing tne
everlasting burden of its fathomless tide. 1
sought the room where I had last seen her,
arrayed tn the vestments of the tomb. There
Iny the books we hud read together. Their
pages bore the marks of her pencil. I cover
ed my eyes from them, and turned away. I
bowed down to inhale the fragrance of her
flowers, and felt that they had no right to
bloom so fair, when she, their cuhurer and
their queen, was bligh ed. I piessed my fin
gers upon the keys oi the piano, and started
back at the mournful sound they made. 1
wandered to her own apartment. I threw my
self upon the couch where from infancy she
had slumbered. I trusted to have wept there.
But my grief was too mighty, to bo thus un
chained. It disdained the relief of tears. I
seemed to rush as upon a drawn sword, and
still it refused to pierce me.
Yet all this was when no eye saw me. In
the presence of others, I was like Mount At
las, nearing unmoved tho stormy heavens up
on his shoulders.
I went forth, amidst ‘he jarring competitions
and perpetual strifes of men. I adjusted their
Opposing interests, while 1 despised -hem and
their concern. I unravelled their perplexit
ies. ‘ I penetrated their subterfuges. I ex
posed their duplicity. I cut the ’>ordian knots
of their I tn ide the “crooked
straight, and the rough places plain,”— with
an energy that amazed them and myself. It
was like that of a spirit, which has nothing to
do with the flesh. I suffered the tumult of my
soul io breathe itself out in bursts of stormy
declamation- I exerted the strength of a gi
: ant when it was not required. 1 scorned to
! balance power with necessity. Tho calcula
tions of prudence, and the devices of cunning,
' seemed equally painful, and despicable. I p-n
' forth the same effort to crush as to uproot the
j oak of a thousand centuries. Il was sufficient
■ for me always to triumph. While men mar- '
veiled at the zeal wi|h which I served them,
I was loathing them in my heart. I was sick j
us their chicanery; and their sabba<hless rush'
' after empty honours and perishable dross
| The whole world seemed to me, “lass than 1
nothing, tu.d vanity ” Still I was sensible of’
neither toil, nor fatigue, nor physical exhaus
tion. 1 nas like one, who in his troubled
; dream of midnight, treads on air, and finds ii
I str ingely sustaining him.
But every night I went to my daughter’-
grave. I laid me down there, in unutterable ,
bitterness. While the stars looked coldly on
me, 1 spoke to her fondly and earnestly, as
one who could not be denied. I said, —“An-
: gel! who art mine no longer, listen to me.—
i i’hou, who art raised above all tears, cause
I one tear io moisten mv burning brow. Give
it to me. as a token that th<»u hearest me, that
thou hist not forgotten tne.” And the blasts
Wimer, through the leafless boughs movki -g
replied,— Give il to me, Give il to me ” But
I wept not. Ten days and night* passed over
me, —and st til I w ept not.
; Mv brain was heated to agony. The visual
{nerves were scotched arid w ithered. My heart
j was parched and and, as the Libyan deser*.
Then I knew hit the throne of Gnet was m
the heart: that though her sceptre m->y reach
the remotest nerve, and touch the minutest
cell where the brim slumbers, and perplex
everv ethereal ambas- idor from spirit to sense,
vet'he pavilion where her darke-t dregs
are wrung out, the labor it ry where her con
-uai- -g fires are cum.-ounded, is the heart, —
th; heart.
1 have implied that ray intellect faltered.—
Ye' t-v-rv morning I w< u to the scene ot m»
labors. Ipm rm shoulder to the wheel, car
ing not though n crushed me. I looked at
men fixedly and Haught,l. wih my red eye
balls. But I spoke no word to betr-i, m«-
i flame feeding at my vitals. The heart-strings
I shrivelled and broke before ;t, yet the martyr
; dom was in silence
j Again, Nighi drew her sable curtain, and I
I sought iny daughter’s grave. Methought, its
i turf covering was discomposed, and some
' half rooted shrubs that shuddered and drooped
; when placed in that dear assemblage of the
! dead, had been trampled and broken. A hor-
Irible supicion took possession of my mind. I
i rushed to the house of ihe sexton. —“Has any
lone troubled my daughter’s grave?” Alarm
ed at my vehemence, he remained speechless
and irresolute.
“Tell tne,” I exclaimed, in a voice of ter
ror, “who has disturbed my daughter’sgravc.”
He evaded mv adjuration, and murmured
something about au injunction to secrecy. —
With the grasp of a maniac, I bore him to an
' inner apartment, and bade him satisfy my
; question. Trembling it rny violence, he con
i fessed that the grave had been watched for
i ten nights.-
“Who has watched my daughter’s grave?”
Reluctantly he gave me the names of those
friends, —names for ever graven on my soul.
And so, for those ten long, wintry nights,
so dreary and interminable, which I had cast
away amid the tossings of profitless, delirous,
, despairing sorrow, they had been watching,
| that the repose of that unsullied clay might
j remain unbroken.
A new tide of emotion was awakened. I
threw myselfdown, as powerless as the wean
ed infant. Torrents of tears flowed. The
tenderness of man wrought what the seventy
of Heaven bad failed to produce. It was
I not the earthquake, nor the thunder, nor the
tempest, that subdued. It was the still,
small voice. 1 wept until the fountains of
tears failed. The relief of that hour of weep
ing, can never be shadowed forth in language.
The prison-house of passionate agony was
unlocked. I said to God that he was merci
ful, and I loved him because my angel lived in
his presence. -Since then, it would seem, that !
my heart has been made better.lts aspirations:
are upward, whither she has ascended, and as
I tread the devious path of my pilgr.mage,
i bo h the sunbeam and the thorn point me as a
suppliant to ihe Redeemer of Man, that 1 may
be ai last fined to dwell nith her for ever.
POLITICAL.
LETTER HI.
To the People of the United States.
On the assti’iipfi »i by the Senate of the accusa
tory power, which, by the ' onstitution, is ves
ted solely in the House of Representatives.
Countrymen:
In the frame of Government by which you
have assigned to each portion of your public
servants their appropriate duties, you have also
pointed out specifically the mode in which your
Presid- nt and all civil officers shall be accused
and ti’n d for violations of the constitution and
laws. In irti-’le 2. section 4, it is declared
that
“The President Vice President, and all ci
vil nffi ---rs of the United S'ates. shall be re
moved from office on impeachment for, and
conviction of treason bribery, or other high
crimes and misdemeanors,”
The I rnsiden- ;Hl( j president are the
( “*.'.!y offi-’,- ri 4 elected bv you who are subject to
this process. To protect your own offi ers
against talse and malicious accusations, you
have reserved the power of impeachment to
your immedi ite Representatives in Congress
Article 1, section 2, paragraph 5, declares
that
“The House of Representatives shall choose
tiieir Speaker arid oilier offi ers, and have the
SOI.E, power of impeachment.”
Thus the Pr- sidrnt can be impeached only
by the immediate Representatives of the Peo
pie who elect bun They are presumed to
speak the voice <>f a majority of the whole Peo
ple; and if is only when that majority thus ex
press a belief of his guilt, that he can be sub
jected to a for-nnl accusation. Bv using the
term “ Sole power of impeachment.” the People
have declared, nat no power on earth shall
j arraign tlie Pr. -.ul-nt of their choice but their
i <»wii Representatives, who are directly respon-
J sible to them.
Having so carefully res- rved to themselves
{through their immediate Representatives, the
puwer of charging their President with viola
I ting the Constitution and laws, it cannot be
{conceived, that thev intended it should oe ex
ercised. directly or indirectly, by any other po
litical or judicial body; and mi h less bv that,
to which they assigned the d ity of trvi-ig the
President for those verv offences. In art, 1,
sec. 3, par 5, it k provided, that
, “'Fhe Senate shaU have the SOLE power
to try all impeachments.”
It the Judges <>f the Supreme Court were,
in their official capacity, io enter upon their re
cords, a sentence or opinion, having no coq
nexion with nny question of a judicial charac
ter, that the PrcHident of tho United States, in
|an official act. had violated the Constitution
and laws of his country, would it not be uni
versally reprobated as an usurpation of the
; power of accusing and condemning the Chief
Executive Mag’-trate, whi hi-* assigned solely
'to other portions of the Government? Yet
would there be less intrinsic impropriety in t e
Judges of the Supreme Court becoming the
official public accusers of the President, than
iue Senator*, because the lat’er are his ulti
mate judges for such - ff n- es. and the former
arc not. The judges would as-urne a power
which ihe People nave confined to their imme
diate Representat'ves, but ho Senators would
not only be guilty of trie same assumption, but
• would commit the fur’her o urage of pr-judging
!a case it might become their duty to try.
’ in ihe present case, it wifi not be denied,
•tint it the President has viol ted the cons'itu
*ion and law-, he isjustly lia.de to wnoeach-
• rnent. But who-e duty is u. in the first m
' <iance, to judge of tuat ' It is the * i sole”
dn'y -i id prerogative of t n R-. -e
! -*"11 atives o| *,e Peoule. Tnej alone of all
. the scrVdGl. us the People, ave a r.gui, in the
first instance, to charge the People’s President
with violating the constitution and laws. To
themselves as nearly as possible, have the P o
ple reserved the right to bring such serious
charges against the President whom they elect.
But what do we now behold? The Peoph
and their Representatives are considered blind
to usurpation and callous to duty. The Pres
ident has violated the constitution and laws
he has caused the public money to be ta
■ ken out ofthe Bank of the U. States. The
People do not see the violation —the Repre
sentatives of the People do not feel it The
People applaud ihe President as having done
right—the Representatives of the People do
not think he has done wrong—and the States
instruct their Senators to support him ! But
those in whom is vested the sole power to try
impeachments, are more wise and more pat
riotic ! Political ambition, bitter disappoint
ment, personal hatred, fees, facilities, and ac
commodations from the Bank, or some other
i cause or causes, have enabled certain Sena
tors to per-etve the enormites ofthe President
so much more clearly than the People and the
Representatives of the People, that the sole
judges ofthe President feel it incumbent on
themselves to become his sole accusers ! W ith
cries of Presidential usurpation on their lips,
they assume a power which belongs exclusively
to the immediate Representatives of the Peo
ple. The constitutional accusers of the Pres
ident are blind to his misdemeanors, or too
slow in bringing him to trial —they are “palsieJ
by the will of their constituents.” Bit Sena
tors who are elected for long term-*, may set
the will of iheir constituents at defiance. The
constitutional accusers of the President are
responsible directly to the People for their con
duct in bringing charges against him ; his un
constitutional accusers of the Senate House
are responsible only to the States, and in their
recent proceedings have directly denied and re
pudiated even that responsibility ! They have
taken upon taemselves unconstitutional irres
ponsible, and arbitrary power, unprecedented
in the annals of this Government, and dange
rous to its existence.
Ought the Representatives ofthe Peop’o to
submit to this assumption of their powers, and
this direct and palpable encroachment upon
the cons itution, on a subject which is commit
ted to their special charge? Will they silent
ly witness the overthrow ofthe Government,
in thetr very presence? Do not they too mean
to “support the constitution ofthe U. States?”
When they sec that constitution assailed in a
matier which belongs solely to them, will they
no. lake the appropriate steps io support it?
Will they set still and see a few Senators, who
are not responsible to the People and deny all
responsibility to the States it is their duty to
represent, assume tho powers ofthe House of
Representatives, and attempt to control ihe
President—thereby grasping the powers of
both these branches of ihe Government into
their own hands ?
In my next, I shall show how ihe majority
of the Senate have prostrated the barriers
which the People have erected, to secure their
President from unjust accusations, and deprive
him of reserved rights, expressly secured by
the constitution,
JEFFFRSON.
An extract fr >m the answer of E. VV. Rip
ley a candidate for Congress in the State
of Louisiana, to certain inquiries propound
ed to him by a voter.
The national constitution was the result of
mutual concession on the part of the south &
the north. The value of the Union was, at
that tune it was adopted, the pearl of great
price, for the attainment of which every sec
tion of the country was ready to make a sacri
fice of local opinions and interests. The
statesmen of that iron period well knew the
importance of the Union of the States—lhey
had seen its effects in obtaining our indepen
dence; they had experienced the dreadful po
sition <>fanarchy and poverty in which we
were placed from the peace of’B3 until the
adoption of our present constitution; the whole
world was suspended with anxiety, to see
whether our revolution was to terminate with
all the consecrated blessings of liberty, pros
perity and tranquility, or whether we should
settle down into a military or political despo
tism. The Union of the Slates, by the adop
tion of the constitution, settled the portentous
question. It calmed the agitated waves of
the “tempestuous sea of liberty,” and has con
ducted us to power and streng'h, to prosperity
and renown among the nations ofthe earth.
The value of this Union is inestimable.—lt
cannot be appreciated even by the sanguine
imagination of the political enthusiast. It
gives to the citizens of every stale a common
country and a common name. It brings be
fore us in proud array our illustrious dead;
their deeds, their fame, their services, living,
are national property, and we glow with con
scious pride when we review iheir achieve
ments, and associate them with the character
of our native land.
Asa nation, our Union presents to an ad
miring world, he theatre on which (he banner
'of freedom were uufurled amidst scenes of
; war and rapine, and desolation. We point
' with pride to our classic fields, where the mar
tyrs of liberty bled amidst the shouts of tri
-1 utnph We behold our country and her insti
lutions, the rallying point of the votaries of
freedom throughout the world. No matter in
what language their aspirations are t’reathed;
no matier m what dime thev gallantly attempt
to free their country from the unrelenting
sway ot despots; no matter whether iliev track
the crimson path of war a !<>ug the banks us
ihe llysus, the Vistula, or the Oronoake.
henever nations rise in the strength of
freemen, to resist oppression, they cast their
eye* o the la d of Washington; they invoke
tne bright xamples of these United States,
and iiey rush tioldly to the combat, conscious
of the. iieariteli sympathy and support of thir
teen uiiliions of treemen. And are we prepar
ed to destroy, by tiugry feelings, this bright
I and couscei’atcd boaiion to the oppressed of al
nations? Are to desolve <»ur Union into
iwenty-four petty states, and lose entirely the
glorious associations derived from a common
ancestry and history? Shall Musissippi and
Louisiana on the one side, and Tennessee and
i Kentucky on the other, separate into distinct
nations, after having stood together upon the
! ramparts of New-Orleans,- m defence of a
! common coiin ry, and so gloriously effected
tho deliverance of these United States? 1 feel
a horror nt the bare contemplation of the sub
ject, and I prav most fervent!' to God to avert,
iat all times and under all circumstances, so
i awful and calamitous an -vent, as the dissolu
' ofthe Union o these s'ates.
RECORDER SPY
H. COB# & M. H. BATKBIGHT, Editors.
AURARIA, GEO. JUNE 7,1834.
ITnion Congressional Ticket.
JOHN COFFEE, of Telfair County.
SEVrON GRANTLAND, of Baldwin.
CHARES E. HAYNES, of Hancock.
GEORGE W. OWENS, of Chatham.
WILLIAM SCHLEY, of Richmond.
JOHN W. A. S\NF )RD, of Baldwin.
JAMES C. TERRELL, of Franklin.
GEORGE B. TOWNS, of Talbot,
JAMES M. WAYNE, of Chatham.
To Correspondents.
Mr, Thornton's Communication was received too'
late for to-day’s paper, we shall if possible, give it eu £ -
tire in our next.
Sidney” is inadmissable. His dogmas of Nullifi
cation, are rather stale. We are peisuaded that if he
had reflected coolly and deliberately, with a mind unin
fluenced by recent declamatory appeals to his passions
and pride, he would have used other, and very differ- *
ent language in the discussion of the important/* ques
tion proposed.” His dogmas and declamation, would,
we have no doubt, produce its desired effect upon an
excited assembly of enthusiastic “ Calhoun Collar
men;” but in a sober thinking one, it could only excite
a feeling of indignant contempt.
The following is the result of an Election held at
I ablaumca on Monday last, for Town Commissioner.
We understand that this election was made the test”
question of the strength of parties, within the corpora
ate limits of Tahlaiiuccti. —*■
BRASHEARS. (Union.) 5l
BERRIEN, (Nullifier.) • - - . 28
Majority, - - - 23
The Appeal Court.
The Columbia Hive, of the 3lst ult. says, “ it is ex
pected that the Appeal Court, will give its decision on
the Test Oath, next Monday.”
Ex«l*resident Hatliivou. •
A Correspondent of the Washington Globe statei*
“ that this patriarch of American Liberty, is in a rapid
state of recovery.,
The Hickory Nut.
The name of this paper has been changed to that ofgj
“ The Backwoodsman and Upson Yeoinan.”
Washington Globe.
The Editor of the Washington Globe, lias issued
Proposals for publishing an Extra-Globe for six months
from and after the 14th inst. at one dollar tzi advance.
The Georgia Times, states that the Convention of
Judges will meet on the 4th inst.
Extract of a letter from Gen. Lafayette to his
correspondent in Philadelphia, dated 2d
1834. ' ;
“It is with the deepest afliction and with tho
loveliest .displeasure that 1 write to you, and t'W
you alone, on the subject of what hajipened
yesterday; the American treaty was rejected
by a majority of a few vote*. M. de Brogilo
very honorably sent in his resignation thifj
morning; Gen. Sebustiani, the author of the
treaty has done the sump. You will be, as I
have been, surprised to see that several mem*
hern ofthe cote gauche have sided against the
treaty. lam still sick, but with a fair hope of
recovery, provided I d«» not commit any impru
dence; that danger, however, would not have
prevented me, as you may well suppose, from
appealing in the house; but my friends used so
many arguments to dissuade me from goin£
that I, at last, was obliged to yield. Ii is best?
perhaps, that I should repress the expression
of my feelings upon tins subject; 1 shall there*
fore speak ot my sentiments for you, &c.
The Late News.— The following brief letter «
from General Lafayette, which we quote from
the National Gazette, contains a brief synopsis «
of the recent sanguinary scenes at Lyons and
Paris 'l'he law passed at the last session of
the Chambers against associations, is " u p‘
posed to be the exciting cause o! the renewed
troubles in France.
“In iny former letters I have related to you
how, to my great disappointment and
the American appropriation bill was rejected
by a majority of only a few votes. I beheve
that if the votes were again t<» be taken to day,
a different result would be produced.
“ We are now in a state of great disturbance-
Die operatives of Lyons (ought during fo ur
days against the t oops ofthe line; and al
though ihe government asserts that it is all a»
an end, the fact is not yet completely pn* d.
The day before yesterday and