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i “The ferment of a free, is preferable to the'torivor of a despotic, CoTerniu7nu» IJOCtfO . From the Philadelphia Commercial Herald. GOD IS THERE. I view the daisy's op’ning flower, That blooms so bright in cv’ry vhle: And seek in joy, tliro’ bold and bower, The red wild rose, and lilly pale ; And while ’he glitt’ring dew is hung On bud and leaf, surpassing fair, Their sweets on cv’ry gale are flung. And prove the hand oj Clod is there. And in the silent -noon of night, When cv’ry living thing is still, Hut the muriii’ring waters glancing bright— The mournful music of Iho rill; When not a single leaf is stirred,— Nor lives a wand’ring breath of air; A tone in this still hour is heard Which tells the heart, that God is there. Yon world of stars ! how pure it seems— How wonderful their bright array; The rising moon—how wild her beams, Upon the misty waters play: The mind may soar—may take its flight, F ir as the soul of man cun dare, Trough worlds on words of endless light— And still will find its Maker there. When from the West somo mighty cloud Comes on with tempest durkn’d plume; The sunbeams play beneath the shroud, And earth is-wrapp’d in gath’ring gloom : The thunder’s peal, the tempest fray— The vivid flesh ami meteor glare, Are only heralding His way, And prove th* Almighty presence there ! Unloose wild thoght—o'er earth and Sea, Give boundless scope to chtunlcss Mind ! • Twas soon resolved each mystery— A source Divino for all things find ! Spring’s hudding flowers—the shrouded night Tho soft—sublime—the rich—tl»c rare— l’oint upward to yon realms of light, An 1 tell each heart that God is there ! Aug. 30, 1S33. 8. J. L. From the Detroit Courier. THE STORM WANDERER. Now fiercely howls the northern blast, And loud the tempests roar, Tiio rain and sleet arc beating fast Against llic cottage door. The rugged rocks tho surges lash In their resistless might; And oft tho vivid lightnings flash Terrifically bright. .• The wind—a perfect hurricane. Wows with tremendous sound, And r ipiuly tho drops o'* rain Fall pattering to the ground. Yet on this night so dark and drear, Amid the storm’s harsh moan, A maid uninfluenced by fear, A maiden, and alone— So furiously on land and sea, Rages the dreadful storm, Besides the maid their seems to be No other living form. Tho fisherman has left the main, And hastens from the shore, The shepherds go not forth again Until the storm bo o’er. On such a night as this to roam Few pcoplo choose, I ween ; Then wherefore thus away from home Goes the fair Josephine ? To cheer tho maiden’s onward way, No star its radicnco lends— Blue lightning round her figure play, And yet she onward wends. Around the rocks, whero deep and hoarse, The waves their voices lift, The dauntless maiden bends her course, Still fearlussly and swift. And now she’s at the 1 rgo rock, where Tho pirate found his grave— With cautious stop she climbs tho Etair And pusses through tho cave. She tremhlcs not with cold or fear, But rapidly moves through, Nor pauses till, alone and drear, A cottage meets her view. And now, alas ! it grieves my soul, To tell what she did then! Tho irtc resting damsel stole— Two ceickens and a hen!! MARTHA. is heavy and irregular. The Episcopal cilurch with its sloping buttresses and gothic windows, is a pleasing exception. “ On Saturday morning after an early breakfast, we started on our pilgrimage. The road up the river ’(Cumberland) passes over some bottom land, such as we are used to ; but the highland is widely different. A substratum of limestone with, apparently, a light coa ing ofloo.-e ourih, furnishes a pro. ductive and durable soil lor cotton, tobacco and corn. A shady ride of tea miles termi. nated in front of the HERMITAGE. “ A beautiful grove of young trees on a rise midway the broad avenue, screens the house and only permits glimpses of the piazza. I at flrsi joined in censuring the Gen. for not placing the house on this rise, as his friends desired ; but the effect is certainly better as it is. A really handsome structure may be safely placed in a conspicuous position ; but rectangular mass of brick, covered with slating roofs and topped off with such awk ward excrescences as chimneys, endured as it must be, in a city, should certainly not be thrust upon the view, to mar a beautiful land- scape. As now arranged, the appearance is very pleasing. “ The House—before the wings were ad. ded was a plain dwelling (facing south) of two stories; the lower containing two rooms (with folding doors) on each side of a spa. cious hall, with four chimneys neatly plaster, ed into the end walls. Two years since wings were built of one story, projecting front and back 3 or 4 .yards beyond the main buil ding. The western wing contains a large dining room and connects with the kitchen, &c. The eastern is divided into an office and library (in which i was gratified to find some memorials of your grandfather General C.) by a hall which leads from the back par lour to the garden. A pi azza runs along the front between the wings. Ten columns support the terrace which is handsomely ba. lustraded, and its bareness relieved by a ga ble roof projecting from the main roof, over the vestibule. The hall is delightfully cool, and the cast parlours large and well furnished. My attention was attracted by the portraits. A tolerable one r ( the General—an excellent (said to he) of h«^ Lady—of Col. G. of Flor ida—of Dr. B. and other old friends. As weclustureJ around the centre tablet© drink, rather than eat a delicious water melon, my eye caught that of Major E. the General's bosom friend. Never was likeness more perfect! Did the first glance decide, you would say the portrait was more like than the original. “ Two black women, old house servants, did the honors of the Garden with great alac rity —“ delighted to see some company, they used to have so much in old mislress’ lime.” I have already said that the back parlour I was walking to her tomb—in the very path where she had walked and wept, in the bit terness of sorrow, that she humble and un assuming should be dragged forth, in her old age and made the target of scorn and ridicule, because a destiny she deemed happy had lin ked her to a man too much beloved not to be hated. “ Can you wonder as I stepped on the cir cular platform that covers , the grave, 1 felt that swelling of the heart which emotion al ways occasions! The inscription accorded well with ray feelings. As I looked up from reading it, an old friend of the General, whose eye had followed mine, said with a quivering lip, “ she deserves it—every word of it. She had nothing of the affectations, the vices, or- the accomplishments of i s'.ion, but she was the best ot wives, the best of women, all who knew her loved her.” “I could not, as I read the last sentence of the inscription, check a flash of shame and regret, that it should chronicle for posterity, the reckless bitterness of an electioneering press. [inscription.] “ A being so gentle, yet so virtuous, Slander might wound but could not dishonor; Even Death, when he tore her from the arms of her Husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God.” “ Who can reflect without mortification, that in times to come, thousands will read this inscription ? They will think of her purity and gentleness as do her neighbors and her friends. How shall we of the present 'day figure in the comments made over the grave to which slander prematurely hurried her? It was a relief to turn my eyes upward and examine the House of the dead. Two steps run around the circular area {18 feet across) ol the platform, from whose periphery snrings 8 fluted columns of the Doric order, surmoun ted by a handsome entablature supporting the dome, 25 feet high. On the interior a plain cornice of vaulted ceiling, stuccoed in white, give an air of purity and comeliness, well sui ted to a tomb. From the centre of the plat form rises a pyramid on a square base. As I passed from the north side of this, I obser ved a. slab symetrical with the one just exam ined, but wirhout inscription. I inquired.— ’Twas for the husband, the President of the United States. The monument and an acre around it, belong to Tennessee—and hereaf ter visits to the tomb cannot be prevented by the caprice of a private possessor. There are but two slabs. No other graves are to be filled. He is on earth alone. The revo lution swallowed up his relatives. He is not only the founder, but “ the last of his line.” He belongs to no family but that of his fellow-cit- zens. “ My foot rests on the slab that will cover i ii .u . i j . , i him. I lean on the pyramid where thousands ,h ° "“ wffl lean hereafter, and while they read tho JR**!? Wh,0h inscription™, hie tomb, will endeavor to re. to not very flock, exhibits evidence of former I , nomoots now ’ phasing. Here they .pUssecHanjj. THE HERMITAGE. Wo are indebted to the Indiana Democrat for the following very interesting letter, giv ing an account of a recent visit to the Her- mitage by a citizen, we presume, of that State. It was written to a friend and not originally designed for publication:— Southern Mercury. « Dear A— ’• , “ I promised to give you an account of my visit to the Hermitage. Had it not been more picascnt than my ride from Louisville, my promise would not have been fulfilled. The dust, heat'and bad roads were rendered less annoying by the many amusing incidents ari sing in the course of a three days warmly contested cleciion. “ On my arrival I was agreeably surprised by the appearance of Nashville! It is situa ted on high ground—rising bluff from the riv. er and undulating so as to present fine sites for public buildings. Its greatest beauty is the uniform neatness and excellence of the houses. Many of the private dwellings have higher pretensions .and are built with a view to effect as well as convenience. The Chur che8 are numerous, but their architecture attention and former neglect. As you look over the garden, across the green cotton fields that stetch away to the woods, you perceive to the right a modest dome surmoun ted by a funeral urn and supported by a cir cular coionade : “ It is over the grave of Mrs. Jackson.” “ As I threw some blooming Altheas, I mr 1 apr ° n °, f T “T w ! ly- H him the charm ee well as the dread of bearer, the fmthfol erwtere with the ,ffee. 8erpenl . A , „ emmet grasp it ie will think of the fetes, processions, and eulo gies, made in his honor by a people who know too well their duty to God, to play the syco phant to man, and will wonder that one who occupied so large a space in the eyes of the world, should be sunk into a compass so nar row. “ Tis a hard thing to look on death so close- tionate retentiveness of a favored servant, said, «Mistress planted, that, she’d often tell me to take the hoe .and we’d go out and plant and fix all through the garden.” I have sent you the flowers. You mUy dis. tribute them among the “ Floras” of my lady friends ; but I bar the conclusion to be drawn from the language, which Mrs. Wirt’s poetical taste and apt selections have given tothese mute yet interesting speakers. “ You know that I am not easily interes- ed in any person, with whorn’I have not an in- timate acquaintance. I must therefore be forgiven, if I am less enthusiastic about the General than yourself, whose maiden speech was made, (if I remember rightly) at one of the first meetings west of the Ohio, that nom- mated Him for the Presidency. I believe there is a large majority, like me in selfish, ness, and I cannot help thinking, despite your denial, that actual intercourse is essential. It is hot a mans good qualities, nor his talents, nor his acts ; but some amiable foible dr tnval defect, which enables us to laugh at or tease him—that converts admiration and re spect-into attachment. I do admit that the heart like the oyster,may sometimes be surpri sed open and rifled of the Pearl of friendship. I recollect a solitary instance. Do you re collect who watched that pillow when I was compelled to leave M. at C. (as I thought) on a death bed. At the moment of parting I felt to that kind nurse a gratitude as perma- nent as life. Forgive the digression-hut do not boast that you in this instance proved me wrong. One much colder than I would have been moved. “ I had just looked upon her likeness, fresh as yesterday—on features handsome in youth and marked in old age by amiability and be. nevolence, telling not of talents^ nor accom plishments—but of the every day duties and common place realities of life., Froth this I passed to the garden she had laid out and the flowers she had planted. I heard the friends who had known her through life speak the eulogy of her virtue, her charity, her gentleness and usefulness—I heard the very Flares whose life had been spent in her service,talk of her with affectionate fondness. all its chilling horror and blank immensity.■ But one by one, each feeling is absorded— and shuddering sinks into the dark abyss of thought—until soul and sense are dead to all, but conscious helplessness. “ As I look upon his grave, the scenes of his life speed before mo with the rapidity and distinctness of a dream. His unhappy and lonely youth—his enterprising, self-sustaining and turbulent manhood, with all its wild ex citement and daring andventure—his military career—his Indian wars, every step marked by a poolness and self command that seemed foreign to his disposition. His success—his mishaps—and more than all, his ability—the unfailing mark of a great General—to inspire his soldiers with his own enthusiastn. His appearance on a higher and wider field—op posed to the veterans of the Peninsula, flush ed with recent conquest and anticipated boo ty—the battle—his victory. His political ca- reer—his candidature, and defeat—his elec tion—his administration—his re-election his Proclamation, echoed and re-echoed from every part of the Union—his entire success— his visit to the east—the high opinion entertai. ned of him abroad—the affection felt for him at home—his loneliness and greatness—all flash before me. “ Can it, can it be that all this must end— soon in the narrow vault beneath my foot ?— * * . * * A laugh—a flower and “ a fair girl just blooming into womanhood,” startle me from the painful thraldom of thought, and remind me that there are othen. things than greatness which Death spares not. ■ « Affectionately yours, ‘ J. F. L “ Nashville, Sunday, 11th August, 1833.” Egyptian Women.—Subject to the immu table laws by which custom governs the East, the Egyptian women do not associate with the men, not even at table, where the anion of Sexes produces mirth and wit, and makes food more delicious. When a great man inti mates that he intends to dine with one of his wives, she prepares the apartment, perfumes it with precious essences, procures the most delicate viands, and receives her lord with at- tention and respect- Among the common people, the women usually stand, or sit in a comer of the room while the luf ;band dines- They often hold the basin for him to wash, and serve him at the table. The Egyptian women, once or twice a week are; permitted to go to the>. bath, and visit female relations and friends. They re ceive each other's visits very affectionately. When a lady enters the harem the mistress, rises, takes her hand, presses it to her bosom, kisses, and makes her sit down by her side ; a slave hastens to take her black mantle; she is entreated to be at ease, quits her veil, and discovers a floating robe tied round the waist with a sash,’ which perfectiy displays her shape. She then receives Compliments ac cording to this manner; “ Why, my moth er, or ray sister, have you been so long ab sent? We sighed to see you! Your pre sence is an honour to our house! It is the happiness of our lives! Slaves present coffee, sherbet, and confec- tionury. They laugh, talk, and play. A large dish is placed, on which are oranges, pomegranates, bananas, and excellent melons. Water and rose-water mixed are brought in an ewer, with a silver basin tej wash the hands; and loud glee and merry conversation season the refreshment. The chamber is perfumed by wood of alloes, in a brasicr: and the repast ended, the slaves dance to the sound of cymbals, with whom the mistresses often mingle. At parting, they several times repeat, “ God keep you in health! Heaven grant you numerous offspring! Heaven preserve your children; the delight and glory of your family!’ When a visitor is in the harem, the hus band must not enter. It is the asylum of hos pitality, and cannot be violated without fatal consequences; a cherished right, which the Egyptian women carefully .maintain, being interested in its preservation. A lover, dis. guised like a woman, may be introduced into the harem, and it is necessary he should re main undiscovered; death would otherwise be his reward. In that country,, where the passions are excited by the climate, and the difficulty of gratifying them, love often pro duces tragical events. The Egyptian women, guarded by their eunuchs, go also on the water, and enjoy the charming prospects of the Nile. Their cab. ins are pleasant, richly embellished, and the boats neatly carved and painted. They are known by the bliuds over the windows, and the music by which they are accompanied. When they cannot go abroad, they endeav our to be merry in their prison. Towards sunset they walk on the terrace, and take the fresh air among the flowers which are there carefully reared. Here they often bathe: and thus, at once, enjoy the cool, limpid wa ter, the perfume of odoriferous pl.uit3, the balmy breeze, and the starry host which shine in the firmanent. Such is the usual life of the Egyptian fe males. Their duties are to .educate their children,.take care of their household, and live retired with their families. Their pleas, ure, to visit, give feasts, in which they often yield to excess, go on the water, take the air in orange groves, and listen to <he Almai. They deck themselves as carefully to receive their visiters os European females do to al. lure the other sex. Usually mild and timid, they become daring and furious when under the domination of violent love. Nevertheless, locks nor grim keepers can then prescribe bounds to their passions; which though death be suspended over their heads, they search the means to gratify and are seldom unsuc cessful. must bestir themselves to keep them from starving and freezing. If these writers would go among the people m the country, they would find as friend Jonas says in our town meet ings “that somebody has got to do the digging,” and this, in the female department, commonly falls upon the mother. From the N. Y. Gazette. Diamond cut diamond.—Several years since there lived in a neighboring city, two gentlemen of one of the twelve tribes of Isreal. Wallack was a dealer in military goods, and Benjamin a trafficker in lacc. The latter had been chosen a military officer, and proceeded to the store of the former to purchase equipments for his person according to law in such cases made and provided^ On payment of his bill, Wallack took out his pocket book to return change. As it lay open on the desk, Benjamin perceived that it contained a lottery ticket, tho numbers thereon inscribed he did not fail certainly to notice. On his return he steped into a lottery office, and to his surprise learnt that those numbers had just come up a prize of $10,000. Before the close of the same day, he visited the armory a second time for the purchase of articles which he had previously forgotten. Payment was again tendered, the pocket book wbs again opened, and the prize a sec ond time exhibited to view. “ Ah! Mon sieur Vallack, vot you got there, von ticket in tho loottery ? I meant to buy one, but for got, I shall be too happy to take yours and give you the price.” “ No, no, Mons, Ben jamin, I cannot tell how much he draw.” “ How much it cost ?” “ Ten dollars.” “ I give you fifteen.” “ No,” “I give you twen ty—I have set my heart on buying one tick et in this lottery, but I forgot.” “ No, dat would be too much sacrifice may be it draw more money and then I look like fool;” “I give you fifty,” “ No—I will sell this ticket for one hundred dollar bill,' Boston bank, I will not take a cent less.” “Oh, (with a deep sigh,) I am too sorry that I did not buy one ticket in dis lottery. But I must have it.” Benjamin with great reluctance drew the hundred dollar note from his wallet, and re ceived the ticket in exchange. When it was fairly pocketed, Benjamin clapped the other on the shoulder, and with a sly wink, said, “ Ah hah, Mons. Vallack, I have got you now, dis ticket is just drawn ten thou sand dollar!” Wallack returned the slap, and replied “ Not quite, Mons. Benjamin look at the clash, look at the clash my dear ! The ticket was a blank of the preceeding class of the same lottery. New England Wives.—Some weeks ago we copied l'rom the New England Farmer “ Brother Jonathan’s wife’s advice to her daughter on the day of her marriage.” The Hampshire Gazette, published in Northamp. ton, Mass, in reference to it makes the follow, ing remarks; The editor of the Farmer must have been deceived; this communication never came from “ Brother Jonathan” nor his wife. It was written by some man or woman who knows not how people live in the country. The writer seems to suppose that wives have nothing to do but read, receive friends, attend to flowers, and give directions to servants in the kitchen. Grave advice is given about the “ management of domestics. See that all things go right in the kitchen. Never dis pute with a servant in what way a thing shall be done, but let your commands be promptly obeyed. Avoid all familiarity with those who may be placed under you,” dee. Now this is all nonsense to “ Brother Jonathan’s wife.” More than nineteen twentieths of all the wives in Hampshire couuty are their own kitchen maids; they cook, wash, sweep, brew, make butter and cheese, take care of their'children, dec. Some may be assisted by daughters, sisters, or Jiired girls, but the wife and moth- er must “ bear the burden and heat of the day,” must have more care and labor than any of the others. If the mother has daugh ters, they are al school, or teaching school, or covering buttons, or employed in some way in which' they receive more assistance from her than she from them. Most of those who undertake to write for the public know very little about the public. In almost all the treatises, on education, the writer takes it for granted that the moth er has little to do bu( to attend to the educa tion of her children. The Vermont Chron icle remarks that many mothers, instead of having time to impart ideas to their children, „ From a London Paper. High Living and mean Thinking.—How much nicer people are in their persons than their minds. How anxious are they to wear the appearances of wealth and taste in things of outward show, while their intellects are all poverty and meaness. See one of the apes of fashion with his coxcombries and ostena- tions of luxury. His clothes must be made by his best tailor, his horses must be of the best blood, his wines of the finest flavor, his cookery of the highest zest; but his reading is of the poorest frivoltics, or of the lowest and most despicable vulgarity. In the enjoyments of animal sciences he is an epicure; but a pig is a clean feeder compared with his mind; and a pig would eat good and bad, sweet and foul alike, but his mind has no taste except for the most worthless garbage. The pig has no discrimination and a great appetite; the mind which we describe has not the apology of voracity! it is satisfied with little, but the little must be of the worst sort and every thing of a better quality is rejected by it with disgust. If we could see men’s minds as we see their bodies, what a spectacle of naked ness, destitution, deformity and disease it would be! What hideous dwarfs and crip ples ! What dirt, and what revolting cravings! and all these in connexion with the most ex quisite care and pampering of the body. If many a conceited coxcomb could see his own mind, he would see a thing the .like of which is not to be found in the meanest ob ject the world can present. It is not with beggary, in the most degraded state, that it is to be compared, for the beggar has wants, is dissatisfied with his state, has wishes for enjoyments above his lot, but the pauper of intellect is content with his poverty ! it is his choice to feed on carrion ! he can relish noth ing fcfte, he has no desires beyond the filthy fare. Yet he piques himself that he is a su perior being; he takes to himself the merits of his tailor, his coach-maker, his upholsters, his wine merchant, his cbok; but if the thing were turned inside out, if that concealed nas ty comer of his mind, were exposed to. view, how degrading would be the exhibition. Might it not reasonably be expected'that peo ple should take as much pride in the nicety of their minds as in that of their persons ? The purity of their mind, the careful preser vation of it from the defilement of loose or grovellbg tho’t.is surely as much a matter of necessary decency as the cleanliness of the body. The coarse clothing of the person is a badge of poverty! what then should be thought of the coarse entertainment of the imagination ? what destitution does it urge, and when it is seen in connexion with all the luxuries of abundant wealth how odious is the contrast between the superfluities of . fortune and the pitiable penury of the understanding! Hie mansion is spacious and elegantly fur nished, but the soul of the occupier is only comparable to the dust-hole, a dark, dirty re ceptacle for the vilest trash and rubbish. You yisit an affluent family in London, you see girls, for whose education no cost has been spared, who have been guarded with the most zealous care against vulgar associations, who are to bo refined if they are to be nothing else! and you see on their table a Sunday newspaper, the staples of which are obsceni ty ana scurility, put forth in a style probably much below the lowest conversation of the footman in the hall. How would the parents shudder at the thought of their daughters lis- tening to familiar conversation of tho coarsest turn carried on by their lacqueys. And what matters it in effect whether the debaucher is taken in at the eye or the ear 1 These things deserve to be thought of in another manner. The care of the mind has yet to have a com mencement Its servants and its food have hitherto been of tiie lowest sort! and on both the character of the ministration and the nutri- ment, the purity and soundness of the intellect must greatly depend. A good sign it will bo when some of the pride in the ostentation of gold, is transferred to the show of the riches of the mind, and when the appearances of poverty of intellect are shunned as those now are of the poverty of t ie purse. Ventilation of Bed-Rooms.—Thero should be a constant circulation of fresh air in bedrooms. The iungs must respire dur ing sleep as well as at any other time, and it is of great importance to have while asleep, as pure air as possible. It is calculated that each person neutralizes the vivifying princi ple of a gallon of air in a minute; what ha voc, therefore, must an individual make upon the pure air of his bed-chamber, who sleeps in a bed closed with curtains, yvith the doora shut, and perchance a chimney .board into the bargain. Our health and comfort depend more upon these apparently trivial points than most people are aware of. “Coufined air,” says Dr. Franklin, “ when saturated with perspirable matter, (the quantity of which is calculated to be about five-eights of .what we eat, will not receive more, and that matter must remain in our bodies, and cause disease. •We may recollect, sometimes, on waking in the night, we have, if warmly covered, found it difficult to sleep again. We turn often, without finding repose in any position. This* “ fidgettiness,” to use a vulgar expression, is occasioned wholly by an uneasiness in the skin, owing to the retention of the perspirable matter.” To obviate the ill effects of this annoyance, the following rule is recommen ded. Keep the same position in bed, but throw off the clothes, and freely admit tho fresh air. This will clear the skin of its per spiration, and you will experience a decided and speedy refreshment. If this be not suc cessful, get out of bed and walk about the room; and having shaken the bedclothes well, turn them down, and let the bed get cool. When you begin to feel the cool air unplea sant, return to bed, when you will experience the good effect of your plan. The bed itself should always be so placed, as to admit a free circulation of air around it, and the curtains, if curtains there must be, ought never to bo perfectly closed. It would be well, if all the apartments, but especially in bed-chambers, the upper sashes of the windows were contri ved to let down, for by this means the ad mission of fresh air would be at all times,per- fectly safe, as the body when even under such a sweat as could not, without danger, be in- terupted, many receive all the refreshing, re- storativc, and invigorating influence of the air; without being exposed to a stream of it. Franklin himself, whatever might be the sea son,slept with his window open, more or less, and advised his friends to do the same, many of whom adopted the practice, and acknow- ledged the advantages of it. Fifty or sixty years ago, the prejudice against the admission of air in the day-time into a sick'room, was as great as it now is against the admission of the night air into a bed-chamber. Early habits and fear are arbitrary rules. Second Expedition to tiie Nigeb.—In a letter to the London Literary Gazette, John Lander who accompanied his brother Richard in the expedition which resulted in the discoveiy of the mouths of the Niger, but not on the recent expedition, gives a cotnpend of the intelligence which had been received in England of the progress of this last expe dition, down to July 31st. The amount of it is, that Capt. Harris of the steamboat Quori ra had deceased, that both steam boats were known to have arrived at the Ehoe Country, —and that the brig Columbine which was to wait at the mouth of the Nun Rivet 1 until their return, had jost her Captain and nearly all her men by sickness. The steamboats had been absent from the mouth of the river five months; during which time nothing had been heard of them. Mr. John Lander writes, “ I see no great Teason to wonder at this delay, chiefly because I am convinced no inter, course i3, or can under existing circumstan ces, be established between any part of the interior and the coast. This would be at va riance with the barbarous policy of the bar barous tribes inhabiting the'eounty in the vi- cioity of the sea. They would not suffer a messenger from the interior to escape their vigilance. Were any one to attempt the journey, he would infallibly be captured and sold; therefore, unless our countrymen were themselves to descend the Niger, and be the bearers of their own despatches, I sec no pos- sibility of any communication being carried on between the steamers in the interior and toe sailing brig on the coast.”—Journal of .Commerce,