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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