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~ ' *jsr ""•"’if] X *■ -m-"-- ~J**is*=ss* ► * ANI> ■* GEORGIA BY T. S. HANNON. TERMS. Fur the City pnptr, (thrice B Beck,) Si* Dollars . i annum, pay Bob' in advance, or Bfveu Dollars I nut paid before the end of the yenr. For the Country pnmrftMre a week,) Three Dol lars per annum, payable in advance, or Four Dol lar', if not paid before the end of the year. Any order from a responsible subscriber to dis continue his paper will be complied With on a set tlement of dues, and not before. Jihrrturmrntt will be inserted at the following rates; For the first insenlon, per square, Rixty two aad a half cents ; for each subsequent, tiicerr insenlon, forty three and three ipiarter cents: In all other cues 82 1-2 cents per square. When an advertisement is sent, without a speci fication in writing of the number of insertions, it will be published until ordered out, and charged accordingly. , , LETTERS, (on business) must be post-paid—or they may not meet with attention. UT In this paper the Laws of the United States are published. 1 . J Higniß.. . 1 - '-L-Sl THE DRUNKEN HUSRAND. ' poor Ellen m rrried Andrew Halt, AVho dwells lasside the moor, Where yonder rose tree shades the watt. And woodbines gT«ce<ll}iibdoor. Who docs not know how blest, how loved Were her mild laughing eyes II y every voulhl—but Andrew, proved Unworthy of Ids prl/e. In tippling was his whole delight, , . Each si git post barr’d his way, He spent in muddy ale at night The Wages of the day. Though Eilen still had charms, was young, And he In manhood's prime, fthe sat beside her cradle, sung And sighed away her time. One cold bleak night, the stars were hid, In vain she wish’d him home; Her children cried, half cheer’d, hall chid, “ O when will father come ?" Till Caleb, nine yeatyold, upsprung, And kick’d his snail nslde, And vounger .Mary round him clung, “ I*ll go, and you shall guide.” The children knew each Inch of ground, Yet Ellen had her fears; Light from the lantern gllinmri *U round, And show’d her falling lenrs. «Oo liy the mill and down the lane; Return the same way home; Perhaps you’ll meet him, give him light , O how 1 wish he’drome ” Away they went, ns close and true As lovers lu the shade, And Caleb sv, ung his father's staff At every step lie made. The noisy mill clack rattled on, They saw the water flow ; And leap In silvery foam along, Deep murmuring below. 11 We’U soon ba there,” the hero said, “ Come on, ‘ tis but a mile— Here's where the cricket match was play’d, And here’s the shudy stile. How the light shines up every bough r How strange the leavesappear ! Hark !—what was that? Vis silent now ! Come diary, never fear.” The staring oxen breathed aloud, Hut never dreamed of harm ; A meteor glanced along the cloud That hung o’er Wood-Hill Farm. Old Ciesur bark'd and howl’d hard tw, All else was still as death, Uni ' aleb was ashamed to cry, Aud Alary held her breath. At length they spied adlstnm light, And heal'd a chorus brawl; Wherever drunkards stopp'd at night. Why there was Andrew Hall. The house was full, the landlord gay, The bar-maid shook her head, And wish’d the boobies far away, That kept her out of bed. There Caleb entered, firm but mild, And spoke in plaintive tune, * .My mother could not leave the child, Rowe arc come alone.’ E’en drunken Andrew felt the blow Mint innocence can give, When Us re-istless accents (low To bill alHlctlon live. ' I’m coming, loves, I’m coming now,’ Theu shuttling o'er the door, dual rived to make his balance true, And led them from the door. The plain broad path that bro’lhlm there By oa> though faultless then, AVu, up and dow n and narrow grown, Though wide enough for leu. The stiles were wretchedly contrived, The stars wore all at play, And many a ditch hud moved itself , * Exactly, iu his way. But still conceit yvas-uppermost, .That stupid kind of pride;— * Dud think I-cannot see a post ! Dost think 1 wantu guide ? ■' Why Alary, how you twijt and twirl 1 why dost not keep the truck f I'd cany thee home safe, my girl, 1 Tuen swung her on his bach. f jot Caleb mustffed all his wits, To be.,r the light ahead, As Andrew reel’ll and stopp’d by ■ Or ran with thundering tread. Exult, ye brutes, traduc’d and scorn'd, s Though true to nature's plan; Exult, ye bristled aud ye hom'd, Then infants govern man. Down to the mill-pool's dangerous brink The head boor party drove; The boy alone hart pow er to think, While Mary scream’d above. * Stop” Oaleh cried, “ you’re lost the prph ; fho water’s close before; 1 see it shine, 'tis very deep— Why don't you hear it roar ?” And then in agony exclaimed. • t> where’s my mother now ?' The Solomon ol bops and malt Stopp’d Short and made a law. His head was loose.his iv-ck disjointed' It cost him little trouble; But to Me. stopped and disappointed, Poll I -Hanger was a buliide. Otnvardsfe stepp’d—the boy alert, I’allia Jill-cjHirsi'e btrtb. Himglikejn log on Andrew’'skirt, And dotvn’hef Tought them both.. fbe tumbling lantern reach'd the stream Us hissing light soon gone ; I was night without a single gleam. And terror reigned alone. . V- 'V ■jjj, 2*pl «y A general scream the miller heard, Then rubb'd bis eyes and ran, And soon his welcome light api*ared, f • As'grumbling he began • AA bat have wc here, and whercalmul' ’ Why whata hideous squall! Pome drunken fool! I thought a* much — Tis only Andrew Hall ! • Poor children !’ lendetiv he said, 4 itut now the danger’s past,’ They thank’d him for his light and aid, And drew near home at last. Hut who upon the misty path To meet them, fin ward press’d I ’Twas Ellen, shivering, witii a babe Close folded to her breast. Said Andrew, “ Now you’re glad, I know, To se-.se-se-see us come ; But I have taken rare of both; And brought them lio-buth safe home. ’ With Andrew vex’d, of Mary proud, But prouder of Wtr buy, She kiss’d them boihr.nd sobbed aloud ; The children cried forJoy. Hut what a home at last they found ; Os comforts all bereft; The fire out, the lust candle gone, And nut one penny left. But Caleb quick as lightning flew, Anil raised a light instead ; And ns the kindling brand be blue, HisTathcr snored in bed. No brawling, boxing termagant Was Elian, though off. nded; Who ever knew a fault like this By violence amended ? No:—She was mild as April mor.i, And Andrew loved her loo; She rose at day break, I hough forlon:, To try what love could do. i And a* her waking hustmnd groan’d, And roll’d his burning head, She spoke with all the power of truth, Down kneeling by his head. • Dear Andrew, hear me, —though distress'd Almost too much to speak,— This infant starves upon irty breast — T o scold I am too weal -11 work, I spin, I toil all day, Then leave rny work to cn. And start with horror when 1 think You wish to sci me die. ‘But iio you wish it! can that bring More comfort or more joy ? Look round the house, how destitute ! Look at your rugged boy! 1 That hoy should malic n father proud, If any feeling can; Then save your children, save your wife, A our honor ns a mull. ‘ Hear me, for Coil’s sake, hear me now, And act a father’s part!’ The culprit bli ss’d her nngrl tongue, And clasped her to Lis heart; And would have vow'd and would have sworn, But Ellen kiss’d him dumb, — ‘Exert your mind,vow to yourttlf, And better days will come. ‘I shall be well when you are kind, And you’ll be Vetter too;’ ‘ I’ll drink no more,’ be quick replied, 1 Be’t poison if I do.' From that bright day his plants, hi.- flowers, Ills crons begun to thrive, . And for three years has Andrew been The soberest man alive. In one of the principal streets in Bristol is a spirit shop, and immediately over it, as an upper story, a handsome Methodist meeting-house; on this was written the following epigram: There’s u spirit above, and a spirit below, A spirit of joy, and a spirit of woe;; The spirit above is a spirit divine, But the spirit below is the spirit of wine. A rose briar was cut in July last, on a plantation in Firhanlt, Eng. measuring fifty feet and two inches In length. From the London New Monthly Mngnrice. Oil Garrick's delivery of a passage in Shakespeare. —As any tiling which tends to throw a striking light on the spirit of one ol Shakespeare's piost celebrated pas sages can scarcely be uninteresting to the majority of your renders, you may, per haps, not object to afford me a page or two, fora few remarks on a suggestion thrown out by a writer in your last num ber. In tho paper on Mr. Matthews’ new entertainment, it was stated, that the exquisite artist had given an imitation of an imitation (“ the shadow of a shade”) of Garrick’s manner, when he spoke the celebrated soliloquy in Richard the Third, “ Now is (he winter of our discontent,” &c. This excited my curiosity towards the sul Jet t, and induced me (o pay par ticular a I teutiou to (he imitation in ques tion ; and as the witnessing of it has had llie immediate effect of totally changing my previous feelings on the point, 1 am tempted to offer a few words in justifica tion of the opinion which, in common with your contributor, 1 now firmly adhere to. It is cot less remarkable than true that a whole generation shall frequently re main for years tog ther in the possession ol one undisputed, and as they seem to think, indisputable opinion, on a given point ; when snd leuly a single touch oi the Ilhuriul spear of inquiry shall'disco ver to them that they hat e 1 ren ell a loug cherishing a decided'mid palpable error. 1 auiicipoj that nothing les than this will soon be tlie case with re gard to the spirit of that celebrated pas sage to which 1 am now directing your readers’ attention. I will place the pas sage before them, and then briefly state why I think so. “ (It ,rtrr —Now Is the winter of our ilisroufont Maile glorious summer by this sun of Vork ; And nil the clouds that toured upon or.r house, In the deep bosom of (he ocenn buried. Now areourbrows boaiul with victorious wreaths 4 Our -tern alarms are dunged to merry meeqags, Our a epdfnl mul chings to delightful measure, tirim iisnged AVer has smoothed his wrinkled front; ' And now , instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — Hr capers nimbly in a Indy’s chamber, To the laciviou-s pleasing of n lute.’’ Now, can any reader peruse (he above passage and retied lor a moment on (he Chui acter and situation of hint who ut ters it, and then say Hut it should b. 4 de livered in a low, gloomy, thought)nl, muttering tone, and with a bitterly con teiopluoiis a»d irronical turn of ex pres sion? Who is the speaker? And ol what is he speaking? Is it not upor j “ one house” that the “ clouds” have till lately “ loirered'”' D it not “ our brows” that are notv “ hound with vie torious wre.Khr?” And are not Ambi tion and Glory the go Is of the speaker’s idolatry—the only gods—the gods to , whom he sacrifices, with a giy and reck ! l , s * iai| d, every obstacle that stands in , his way ? Whois it 100, that ha# brought i About tins “glorious summer Who, but the “ sun of York ;” the Plaiita«-e --■let ; by a relationship to whom the high reaching” Gloster “ look# proud ly on the crown aud which crown, bu' lor the late success,.,, that lie is contem I’l Hiug, he might in vain have hoped It mnpass ? And with all ‘hese consi Jera- ! lions playing, shifting, and blending them selves together in his ever-.ar uve muni, will he be likely to utter their results in any other than atone' of joyous exul tation, with smiling lips, fine-darting eyes, arid altogether an action and de meanor calculated to evince the pre sence of that newborn spirit of hope , which may be supposed’to have just vis ited him ? It must be borne ih mind that Gloster is a person absolutely without shame, fear, or remorse ; a gay, impudent, bold faced villain; exulting in the conscious ness of his intellectual superiority, and firmly believing that it will carry him safely and triumphantly through all diffi culties. He can “smile, and smile, and murder while he smiles; 1 ’ not hypocri tically or affectedly, but from pure lov< of the sport. Nay, he ran scarcely mur der without smiling : there is not one of his deeds of blood that he docs not cut a joke upon. Even hi? own deformity, the contemplation of which is the only thing that ever for an instant disturbs the self complacency of his thoughts—he can make merry even with that; and only treat? it seriously to serve a particular purpu e—as in the scene where he bare? his withered arm, and calls for punish ment oa those through whose spells (as he would insinuate) this h:is befallen him. * „ •The reader will do well to recollect i that those “ compunctious visilings” ! which assail (Hosier in the Tower, are confined to the net id play—(hat impu dent falsification of Shakespeare and his tory which has so long kept possession of tlie stage, to the disgrace of our national taste and feeling. In the rent scene in the Tower, Gloster is all light-hearted ness ami joy. Even his anxious rare a ! boat the mode of burying the murdered primes is all interpolated. What care? he how nr where they ai e buried ? It is enough for him that they are dead ; and when Tyrre! tells him “ The otinplain of the Tower hath Imrled llirra i But where, to s«y the truth, I do not know,”— he d"es not say a word more on ti e sub ject ; but proceeds gaily to sum up t ! e number of his subjects of self-congratu lation, — “ The son of Clarence have I penned up close ; His daughter meanly have I match. .1 ir. marriage i 'file sons of Edwaitl sleep in Abraham's boson; And Anne my wife hath bid the w orlii Here are as many jukes as lines; ami he finishes by determining instantly to visit his niece Elizabeth, in the character ol •• a jolly thriving wooei.” Gloster was, in fuel, disposed to be anV thing rather than out ol temper, either with the world or with himself. To those who did not know him, he mast have ap peared one of the most delightful per son- imaginable. Ile continues careless, confident, animated, and < ourageous even to the last; not to be daunted or cast down by danger or death itself. * And it is remarkable, that the very last speech lie utters before he rushes out to seek and find Richmond “ even in the throat of death,” is evidently intended to in -11 tides a pleasantry,—“ 1 think there be six Richmonds in the field,” &c. We are of course speakiugof Shafietpean's play, in which Cluster is not seen after this speech. Surley there needs no more arguments lo prove that the soliloquy which has oc casioned these remarks, calls for a man ner of delivery directly opposite to that which wo have seen assigned to it iu the present day ; that, in fact, it requires ex actly the manner which Garrick is said to have adopted in giving it, and which adop tion is, perhaps, of itself an argument al most conclusive in its favour. Whether Mr. Mathews’ manner of giving the speech in question resemble Tate V\ ilkin son’s imitation of Garrick, 1 know not; but of this I am certain, that it is an admira ble morceau of acting; that the high ani rna'cd and cheerful look ; the restless and almost redundant action, and the exulting bubbling up of the voice (as if it came fresh and sparkling from the overflowing well-springs of the heart) are all in per fect keeping with the charactur and situa tion of the speaker; and 1 hope (more than I expect) that they will at once super cede those gloomy and querulous tones and gestures which would induce one t; believe that “ the clouds” which are spo ken of were all “ buried in the dark bo som” of the speaker, instead of “the o cean.” It must be understooed that I would apply the foreign remarks exclusively lo the first part of the soliloquy; to that part of it which 1 have quoted above, and which alone .Mr. Matthews gives as hav ing been spoken by Garrick in a cheer ful and exulting spirit. From this we are, no doubt, to com bide, that the mo ment Gloster begins to “ descant on his own deformity,” Garrick made him as sume a dilf ;rent tone and manner ; prob ably asimularonc to that adopted in the present day throughout the whole speech. If so tins furnished a striking and highly dramatic contrast, worthy the reputed genius of that actor. But to enter into this part of the subject would require more space than you are likely to allow me : I, therefore, conclude by expressing my sincere admiration for the talents of an actor who would deserve the thanks of all lovers of the English acted drama, even it he had done nothing else than thus presen ea traditional likeness of the mind and manner of iis most distinguish ed ornament. *By nothing but “shadows;” and by ihem only for a moment. See that admi rably characteristic speech “Shadows to uight have struc k more terror to the »oul of Richard,” &c. And the history of the human intellect proves ihat “sha dow.-” have often been known to excr ci-e a more striking momentary influence over minds like Ki«, than over those of a meaner rank. A thief near Wheeling, Va. recentlv succeeded in stealing from a wagon a large trunk. He supposed that he had made a “good haul.” Eager to reap the reward of his labour s , at a convenient place, be carefully opened the trunk by taking off the hinges, and emptied it of its contents, when lo ! insteadoffimliug some thing to gratify his avarice, he beheld a human form!. “ Wliat may this mean, That thou, deait corse, a vain, in complete shape Revint’etuiias the glimpses of the moon. Malijng-tiight hideous.” It was the muniy of one of (he female iborigihes, that hail remained for ages in a caverp invKentucky, and was on her way to the eastward tqTbe exhibited for the gratification of die curious. <ifi& ■ md' From “ A Sketch of Old bij a New England Man.'’ The preparations Ibr the king’s coronation, and the consequent mar shalling of the house-hold troops, to gether with the various claims to ser vices of one kind or other on the oc . casion, naturally turned my attention to the subject, and caused me to com pare the stale of his majesty with • that of our worthy president. 1 In making some little researches ' into these matters, it is inconceivable what a nest of officials 1 have routed • out of his majesty’s chambers, ward robe, cellars, kitchen, scullery, sta bles and dog-kennels. All these are t more or less privileged persons; . most of them are paid for doing no : thing, and all living at the expense of the people. To me it was really a- J musing to see the uncouth names of . some of these offices, and the pitiful = functions of others, that are filled by some of the highest nobility of the s kingdom. It is these, as well as in 1 more important particulars, that the ( radical, essential, and irreconcilable i difference between this people and go i vernment, and ours, is clearly indi ■ cated. Our people would laugh rea • dy to split their sides, or if they did ! not laugh, they would groan in syi i rit, to see those men to whom they - had been accustomed to look up with - reverence or respect, deriving digni [ \ ty, importance, and wealth, from the 9 ; performance of the most menial offi 1' ces, such as the lowest white man | among them would not deign to per -5 form for the highest.—-Indeed, the whole arrangement of the court here would be irresistibly ridiculous, were I the farce not turned into a tragedy, by the additional burthens ami priva tions the people are obliged to sus • tain to support this mummery. As our good people are, however, hap ’ pily exempt from such degrading burthens, they are free to make ’ themselves merry on the occasion. I w ill assist you as far as I can by enter . ing into the details, i The first of these important per -1 sonr.ges is the Lord High Steward of the king’s household,whose province is to superintend the state of his ma ] jesty’s chambers, kitchens, &c. and t to whom all officers and servants of 1 the king’s house, except those of the ’ chapel, chambers and stable, are sub , jeet. His dignity, state, and honour . are said to be exceedingly great, for - he attends bare-headed upon the s king, and swears the members of par ’ liaraent. His salary and emoluments are probably two hundred times grea f ter than those of the High Steward • of the President of the Uuited States, whose functions are pretty similar, • except that he docs not administer the oath to members of congress, and i is not, 1 believe, called lord. The second great officer of the ' household troops is the Lord Chara [ berlain, who, it is to be remembered, 1 is different from the Lord Great t Chamberlain of England. To the - former belongs the superintendence j of all the officers of the king’s cham ' her, except the precincts of the king’s » bed-chamber, which territory belongs r to another grettt man, called the - Groom of the Stole. All above ‘ stairs, to the very garret, is subject _ to his conlroul. He is also overseer „ of the wardrobes, beds, tents, revels, music, comedians, hunting, - messengers, trumpeters, drummers, artisans, handicraftsmen, physicians, apothecaries, surgeons, barbers, and i chaplains. In his capacity of Mas* > ter of the Revels and Comedians, it i is that he exercises the prerogative 1 of licensing plays. The present ’ Lord Chamberlain Is said lo be a ; capital judge of Pantomime. The Lord Great Chamberlain is still i greater than he, being entitled to live ry and lodging at court, besides other • mighty privileges. On the day of the coronation, before the king rises r from bed, the Lord Great Chamber lain is privileged to bring him his 1 shirt, coif, and wearing apparel, for • which he is entitled to all the king’s . night clothes, and the bed and bed s clothes, as a fee. Then he carries f the coif, gloves, and linen, at the co ’ conation ; the sword, the scabbard, \ the royal robe and crown, with pri ! vilege to undress and attire the king. For these great services he receives forty ells of crimson velvet for a robe. —Lastly, he serves the king on that ’ 'day, before and after dinner, with . water to wash his hands, and has the • basin and towel for his pains. Only tnsce the vast dificrence between a ; king,“ by the grace of God,” and a ‘ President, by the will of the people, the persons, whose functions ap proach nearest to these mighty lords, in the President's establishment, are, i or at least were, when I was last at 1 Washington, two clever bladk fel lows. named Pompey and Paul, if I recollect right, whose services did not f cost the nation a farthing. Our wor thy President, it is true, is respected and beloved by all the people, w here ver he goes he is received with accla mations, and hewvas never shot at in his whole life, except by the enemies! of his country in battle. But for all this, there is not a freeman of a white colour, and in decent circumstances, born and brfed in our country, that! would not feci himself degraded by' the performance of such menial ser vices. These offices are at present tilled in England by a marquis and a baroness, the latter by hereditary de scent, who, 1 hope, for the sake of ■ decency, did not insist on her claim of undressing the king at the corona i tion. After the Great Chamberlain com eth tne Master of the Horse, Comes Stabuli. This great officer, as he is i called, hath now the ordering and su : perintendence of the king’s stables, I horses, footmen, grooms, farriers, ■ coachmen, smiths, saddlers, &c. Be • sides all this, he, and he only—think ! of that, brother!—has the privilege ; of making use of any horses, pages, • or footmen, belonging to the king’s fj stables. Another of his great privi ■ | leges, is that of riding next behind f the king, leading the king’s horse of I state. The person at present exer cising these high functions is a duke, “ the descendant of the Grahams of i Scotland. The President’s coach ; man is tiie person most nearly resem ; bling the Master of the Horse, and ■; receives about fifteen or twenty dol - j lars a month for his services. Under one or other of these three I mighty officers, all or nearly, all, the • subordinate ones are marshalled, and • an army of them there are, I assure i you, numerous as the drones of the ■ hive, and like them, for the most part', ; living by the labors of others. There • he “ land rats and water rats;” > Treasurers of the Household ; Comp - trailers ; Cofferers ; Masters of the ! Household ; Clerks of green cloth j : Clerks Comptrollers ; Gentlemen of - the Privy Chamber; Gentlemen Pen , sinners; Gentlemen Cupbearers ; ■ Gentlemen Carvers ; Gentlemen ■ Sewers ; Gentlemen Ushers ; Gen -5 tlemen Grooms of the Bedchamber ; • “ all honorable men,” I assure you ; ; and, what is of more consequence, - all well paid by the people. 1 ext come the pages of the Pre sence Chamber; Grooms of the Great Chamber; Pages of the Bedchamber ■ and Backstairs; Officers of the re- I moving Wardrobe; standing Ward - robe keepers; Laundress of the Body ■ Linen ; Sergeant at Arms; Messen -1 gers of the Great Chamber; Clerks t of the Checque to the Messengers in - Ordinary; all of them, too, “honora ble men,” or women; and most of r them having deputies, who have their r, deputies, Ac. Ac. ad infinitum. In J the roar of these, march “ four and twenty fiddlers all in a row,” under ’ the command of the grand Master of ‘ the Music. Next come the Sergeant 1 Trumpeters; Court Drummers; Mas > tors of the King’s Tennis Court; f locksmiths; card-makers; embroid ' erers; cabinet-makers; operators of the teeth ; oar-makers; harpsichord makers; sergeant skinners; distillers; ? pin-makers; perfumers; strewers of herbs; apothecaries; rut-killers; > mole-catchers; necessary women; f and yeomen of the mouth—all very ; honorable persons, that serve the ; king, and are well paid by the peo ' pie. \ I have not done yet. I must not [ forget the Master Cooks, those im | portant personages—nor the people ' of his majesty’s bakehouse, pantry, . buttery, cellar, spicery, confectionary; ewry; the scourers, turnbroches, door ’ keepers, soil-carriers, of the king’s pri ’ vy kitchen, the queen’s privy kitchen, ’ the household kitchen, larder, scald ’ ing-house, pastry, scullery,and wood yard ; nor the harbingers, the porters t of the gate, the bread-bearers, wine porters, table-deckers, purveyors, | and pankeepers; not one of whom would ever forgive me for not making honorable mention of themselves, [ and their dignities, as servants of the king. A vast number of these offi . ces are of the most frivolous kind, as p you may well believe, from the na , ture of the functions exercised by ’ their betters. j Here too, as in every other depart . ment of the government, we see the ; same care taken to instil and preserve . a sense of dependence and inferiority, . distinct from every moral mental, or . physical qualification, and derived ( from the king’s pleasure alone. One . grade ot officers of the court is not al lowed to approach nearer to the king's ; person than a certain room, beyond which a superior order of beings, gifted with superior privileges, inha bit or officiate. In short, from those who are permitted to perform menial offices about the king’s person, to those who only come within the out skirts of the court, there is a regular gradation of inferiority. The great man who hands the king his shirt, looks down upon the little man, who is only admitted into the king’s pre sence ; while the great man, who is allowed to come inside of a certaih door, considers the little man, that waits on the other side, vastly and radically his inferior. The divinity of a courtier is the king ; and who ever can get nearest to him, partakes, in exactly the like proportion, of the divine nature of majesty. ! it is for this reason that courts have, in all ages, been the theatres for the excitement and struggles of all those petty passions, which disgrace our nature. Perpetually reminded, as I courtiers are, of their inferiority to ■ those above them in staiioi, ari d f M t by a thousand causes of l arising from the system ole J • I have mentioned, jealousy enu K f spleen, are eternally excited . work. Every one i s consent B - striving to get within a certaS fl from which he is’ excluded bv fl ■ \ uette j and passions, wl L* I s the wide world are only occasion fl s awakened to violence, are B - in a continual heat, by an evert? ■ , succession of mortification j|B , will of the king alone can raise aBI - above such things, and to the i I'M c they sacrifice all independent* 111 j mind, rather than be kept in lfle wM , room, while others wait in the s own chamber. ,U 1 ■9 - All this, they tell me here, isabt H i lutely necessary to the dignity 1 ■ f king, and the security of his t h JH - because without this abject sense! ■ , dependence and inferiority, np u O f the great nobles, nor the people*l W - large, would submit to grovel - footstool of royalty. I f ear tsi ‘ I,e ■ 1 true ; for I feel that is impossible,! ■ -a king to reign by divine right a W ■ except over a people, who are drilfcj ■ p from their youth upwards ii lto a ■ - grading and awful impression a ■ 1 kingly superiority, by these 'irfa. ■ p gradations of servitude, this systen I 2 of ranks A etiquette, by which a m', B 9 is > at evcr y and every niomer I 2 of his life, reminded that other m fc I ’ are gods, and himself little better tin I -a beast. When such feelings and in, I 2 pressions become, by habit and edu I ; cation, a part of the very nature o I f man, it is difficult, if not impossible - to make him comprehend our ration ; al system of equality. He will con . i found the freedom from these abjeci - restraints, with the licentiousness that ; overleaps those barriers ’which an ; essential to the existence of society ; , and, in attempting to rid himself o( slavery, will become a madman or a - gormandizer. In short, my dear bro t ther, as it is impossible to make a r white man of a negro, or wheat bread - out of rye flour, so does it appear to - me next to impossible to make ration s al, manly, high-spirited republicans, - who resist oppression, yet obey the s laws, out of a population born in a i state of dependence, and brought up - in a manner worthy their birth. I 1 believe our ancestors carried with r them all the spirit of liberty England i ever possessed, or what they left be -1 hind, was frightened away by the r French revolution. f t . Present Picture of JS'cw- York. ’ Our readers at a distance, who are j- acquainted with this city, as it ap pears at ordinary seasons, will doubt , less feel some curiosity to know how p it looks, while laboring under the . calamity of a pestilence; and wo shall \ this evening endeavor to draw a ’ brief sketch of the city, as viewed ? under its present aspect. In doing ' this, we shall presuppose our readers acquainted with the topography of the city, since a description of streets, { markets and other public places, would lead us too much into detail, 3 and extend this bird’s eye view be > yond its intended limits. ’ Beginning, then, with what is call r ed the infected district, which was the source, and is yet the principal > seat of the pestilence, you see the wharves from about Fulton-street, on the North River, to the Battery, cn s tirely stripped of its shipping, no boats plying along the solitary shore. ’ the stores and and houses fronting the 1 river all closed, and the dead silence, 1 which reigns through this region, ’ unbroken by the hum of industry, or ? the cheerful bustle of business. It is said, indeed, that one old lady, pos ’ sessing more valor than discretion, still resolutely remains in her house, within the original infected district, having supplied herself with proyi ■ sions for a long residence, and dis -1 puling the empire over these deserted 1 dominions, with the cats and rats, > who are her only neighbors. yhe ’ | sometimes, perhaps, during the night 1 hears the footsteps of the watchman, : walking his lonely round, but proba ■ bly oftener, the silent tread of the 1 thief, whom even a the pestilence, ! that walketh in darkness, and wasteth i at the noon-day,” cannot deter from ■ the commission of the most wanton, ‘ depredations, at the imminent hazard of his own life. From the Battery up the East Ri ■ ’ ver, to Fulton street, some gleanings of population and business yet i'C main ; no case of fever having yet 1 appeared on this side of the town 1 Several stores are still open in Vv ater street ; but our readers can judge 1 how generally the lower part of the city has been deserted, when they are Informed that the estimate of popula tion south of Fulton street, which it will be recollected extends from river to river, is short of 3000. The or dinary population is probably no far from 30,000, making the number of emigrants about 27,000. The beautiful streets in the vicinity of the Battery, Broadway as far up as the Park, with the parallel and transverse streets, from river to river, compris ing one of the most wealthy, and in ordinary seasons the most healthy