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„ „UI k* tatimnl fc» IssSthsn « y»»». »•» .ttgawigggggwai: ripijM'swsf / is P«itf ill •tissues w MlitTuitorjr stUMENTffi ti-wwii ilw bdur* - lee l» A« <ki»- i >kM* ill Ik* sfist niHM, *1 dm Cnurt-kmiM, in 111. , .liii'li ilm Inmi I* lilMKii. Noliiwi nl ihtM flKIMHIX'I Y HAYS pr.vii.un lu fAKUROES must k« nl • politicsucllon, on th<‘ first -I .k* moiisUt Uiiwma tin Manat hours of at the Tnublic aaloain Ilia county where the letters lestamen- /AJrtiiniulretion or Qmiidianshiji, may have been grunt* ".I.Tm SIXTY HAYS node, thereof, in on. of ill. rfn-»M oi Iki. Slum, uni in ill. door of Ilia Court- Wra nrek «nl«' «ra lo ba held. brill. Miaoi Partonnl Proparljr. mint Im (Iran io Mr FORTY dai • previous lo dm dny of bhIc. jo'lh. D.iil'iri .ka Cr.dilor.ofou E.talo uiual bo dliVuinhcnliun will b« mad. In ilia Court of Ordina- will LAND, u.u.l bo published for FOUR | ??’, lonv.ro noli NEOHOES, inu.l bo nnbli.li.il lor /months, Imfora any order ab.oluio alintl bo mnde litter* of AdminUlraliou, muol be puhli.bod i—lor iNmilin don from aduiiiii.lmiiiin, monthly six _,r di.mliialon Imm Utinrdiaiiship,/oifii<I<rjf«. . forllm tuns) "*" r " "f'lortlfnirn inu.l bo plilillohoil it brfMr *,.,«<£«-fornsublishing limt paper.,for the iitcllkrre mouMi—for compelling lillo. from Ex.eu- , Adniiiiiuroior., wliem a Uond ba. been given by III. iLomd the full tpnee of three month. ■ • will aliv.y. ba conllnuoil according lo then, I'TTJ,,Irequirement., onloaa nlhorwi.o nrilorod. . ukn.ino.. of ibis kiml continue. In rocoivo prompt alien- Irtih! Office III I be OEOROIA JOURNAL. OMITTANCES RY MAIL.—“ A po.inin.lor may on- I Jr—,r In sMrer to the publisher ora nowanapar, io pay riudon ofa lliird per.no, and frank ihe letter if wril- I Jy hiinself-"—-f Ken,Ml, P. II. Q. miscellaneous. '^TUtTAlRE, GOETHE, AND SCHILLER. ' Sr. George Pulnam recently delivered nn ora- iiu* before ihe Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University, on "TheConnexion between Intellectu- aland Moral Culture," and he bundles the poets of iht put and ’l> e present century with a most with- •ringsttvcrily- Byron and Burn* are truuled ua ’ihair licit require, aud not a* their poetry may mer- j () and uthera come in fur their share. We do not frcollect lu have seen Goethe treated with such se. I verityaa Mr. Putnam uses ; and while we read, wo [ are reminded llmt in litis Stale one of the rival lit- Vary aucit'lies ol a flourishing religious culiego is tailed the Goctlieon Suciety, in which we tire lion, ‘tied with membership, and that the disiittgiii.licd divine »ho presided over the institution delivered Meulogy upon his great poetic countryman. It la well, however, lu hear what boih sides have lo iay, aud thurelbre we copy from the extracts of the station which we have seen : TRUTH AND SUCCESS. Tu.iolcul once the highest point of connexion between morul und intellectual attainment—the Jpeof truth. Truth ia the one legitimate object of all intellectual endeavor. To discover and appre hend truth, to clear up and adorn it, to establish, and preset)! and commend it,—these are the processes ■nd the ends of study and literature. To discern the tilings that reulty are aud how they are, to dUtinguMi reality from appearance and sham, lo kuuw and declnru the iruu in outwurd nature, in jiait time, in the results of speculation, in conscious, neu and sentiment,—this is the business of uduca- ledinind. Logic und the mathematics nro instru ment, fur this purpose, and so is the imagination just as strictly. A poem, a play, a novel, though a work al ficl on, must be true; or it is a failure. Its machinery ntay be unknown to the actual world; [lint scene may he laid in Ely-ian fields, or infernul shades, nr Isiry land ; but the law of truth must preside over the work; it must be the vehicle of truth,or it tsuuughl and ia disallowed. The Tern- pet', the Odyssey, und Paradise Lost, derive their value from their truth; und 1 say this nut upon utilitarian principles, but according lo the verdict ekich every Irun soul pusses upon them, conscious. Ij nr unconsciously. Lofty, holy truth tnudo beautiful und dear and winning to the responsive ' *rt,—this is their charm, their wealth, their im Mortality. There is no permanent intellectual suc cess but in truth iiimiued and brought homo to the ; the understanding, or the heart. And for the best success in the putsuil of tiny Seel, there must he u love ol the object itself. The > student,ihe thinker, the author, who is true to his,' incaliu . loves the truth which he would dcvclcpc and embody. Not for bread, not for fume, prims rily, ho works. These things may come, und we 'arewelcome; bat truth is higher and dearer than jhese, (irent things have been done for bread and [fame, but not the groutesl. Plato, pacing the si lent groves of tint academy, and Newton, sitting Llfiuliiy on hi. bedside, undressed, and his fust Inbroken, rnpi in a problem of fluxions ; Dante so tting ihu bitterness of exile with tho meditations Hut live in the Cnrumelia, und Bacon lulling his %th chill in un experiment to test the preserving iplitios of snow ; Buvior, a lordlier Adam tltuo tof Eden, miming the whole animal world in his nUeum, und reading the very thoughts of God after tint iu their wondrous meohunism ; Frunkliii aud Davy wrestling the secrets of nature from their In- tout hiding place ; Linnaeus studying thu flora of lire arctic circle m hso: und llmt fresh old man •Ini.tunics tlie clefts of the Rocky Mountuin with bis rifle, to catch precisely the lustrous tints of beau- fyin tho plumngu of u bird;—these men, and such M they, love truth und are consecrated, hand aud ks.rt, to tier service. The truth, us she stands in W. duings, or iu man’s doings, nr iu those tkuuglu. and affections that love neither form nor ftccli, but which answer from the deep places of lie snul—truth, iu her world-poising might or her •coming trivial ties—truth as she walks thu earth •tnbodied in visible facts, or moves among the ipkeresol the mysterious laws that combine a uni- •erae and spell n to liartnuuy, or ns she sings in Iks upper heavens Ihe murticulato wisdom which ktly a profound religion in the soul can interpret— ruth, in whichsoever of her myriad manifestations me lias laid hold „f their noble afliuiiies, und —ought their being into holy captivity ; such men .B luved her greatly und fondly ; tlie soul of gen. Ws tsnlways pledged lo her iu a single henru-d und >»«el affiance, or else It is genius bullied, blasted **scro»iiod. v VOLTAIRE. °h«ite is not read as living and ruling minds N*Wd. His histories are not referred to us nu- ' mriiies, but luivo becomo notorious rather for jr lr (’•'Version,cureless,or fraudulent of dules and ***** His name, we tiro ussured, is biased, when Wkleuby the Historical Prolessor in the lecture ikttnaul Paris, His poetry, with all its artistic l*rftctinn, is iki fountain of inspiration or spiritual * reshnieni to anybody; and the highest French ■ ucs, with a|| ilieic national feeling, have ceased kgwrify in ||,„ Henriado. His dramas, which are best tilings, will probably be retained on Ihe /<• for stime time longer, on account of tho felici* ^Jtf their literary execution and dramatic udnpta- ' His batteries against religion, that bristled t 1 «o fierce and formidable, are dismantled, nud 11 beyond repair. His philosophical speculations scarcely a place of refuge left them, except in ' crumbling chateaux of the Fieucli provinces ere some octogenarian survivors of u gtuceiess n ■nil muiter in the cars of an uubecdiug work •last tilings they leu rued—ilia denials of infidel \v'i '!'* °f Jacobinism, a .* — '*11 ibis so t Why Ims it turned out thus ™i that great man, so brilliant lu wit, of gills so !"**, ,*1 hnellectuui activity and productive. l so immense, nud an influence so wide und in- pn'kautl Considering the position he once held, Iwl lue power ho once exorcised, it is uot too much IV.’- vois. xXx\i to say, that Voltaire hoc come to nought. And why f Mil deficiencies were, no doubt, many und radical. But one just rouson, nnd a comprehen sivu one, is, that the law of truth was not in him. It is uot merely because there was error io many of Ids opinions: this must happen to all—to com mon men and great men. Errors of opinion will nut sink a mun, but iudiflureuce lo truth will sink any ntnn. It is nut that ho hated truth, or desired wickedly to propngate falsehoods, but ho did nut lovo and worship truth. He full not the overaiv. ing divinity there is in it. He did not distinguish between it and the plausible and politic. He bad no fuilh in the heart of anything. If he had had but a loving faith, only some touch of a believing spirit, lie had been saved ; fuilh iu anything—in God, or man, or nuture ; in things temporal or things oternai in a problem of matlie- mutics ora Ilullonian theory of theenrth ; in some conclusion of logic, or some deep uspiruliou of the soul, in some religion, whether of the Bible, tlu- Koran, the Shuster ; or of the heart ; iu some priesthood, whether of Papal appointment, or an inner, unrecognized and spiritual annoiutiitg from ubovc ; in some nobleness, whotber by kingly en. dowment,or a God given patent stamped on the brow of greatness; in some beauty, whether of heroic virtue or only a garden fl 'wer; only a faith, taking any direction, but clinging to somelltius; us true, and therefore dear and sacred;—then there hod been something fur him to love and labor for— lo live and die for—for its own worth to him ; then he had been a true nnd earnest man, and bis whole iulellectuul destiny changed. But this loadstar of the soul was wanting. He never felt its heaven- ward attraction. The divine principle was nut iu him, nnd so lie was given over to the sway of his vanity and lightness, his spite and spleen and all the puck of infirmities which bis temperament and position engendered. Hu sinks into the seat of the . scoffer. His genius goes out in mocking and con. tompt. Ilis greatness is in dental. His power is in pulling dwwn. Such a man, by (lie very turn of bis mind, must be sliulloiv, never profound. He seeks not the true in thought, but ihe striking, the available, the effective. The first mind of his age und projecting vast immediate effect, revolutioniz ing tile wnr of thinking fur u whole generation or two, he has yet added nothing to the world’s stock of knowledge, nor originated u single idea that bears fruit, nor an influence whereby souls grow larger nud richer by partaking. He is henceforth no man's spiritual benefactor. The young mind that should now choose him as its nourishing father and highest man, would he stunted to burrenness and belittled to insignificance. For n great man, the fir-l intellectual mult of his age, this result I call a failure. Goethe and scheller. I know there are apparent exceptions, but I be lieve they are apparent only. A most remarkable, un almost miraculous one, presents itself in the case of that greut man who lias so long held the sceptre which fell from the withered hand of Vol. laire, the German Goethe. If we may venture to dissent from the idutalrous peuegyrics of some of tho European and American admirors, and may abide by the more detailed accounts and calmer judgments that reach us from the great man’s own country, and which we are assured prevail there— with some contradiction indeed, but a contradiction growing fainter every day—then we may look upon Goethe as the impersonation for moral indiffer ence, A gentleman and a courtier, he made his elegant Eplcurianism conform to the decencies and graces of the polished and even elevpted socie ty in Which he moved or which, perhaps, we ought to say moved round him as its centre. He knew how loivin tho regard, perhaps even the affection, of men far belter than himself. But he was re markably destitute of moral symphlliies, and seems to have recognised no such tiling as moral obliga tion. He was cold, selfish, false. Throughout Germany, his name is almost a synonyms fur disso- luteness. Of course, both there nnd here, kindred spirits have a vocabulary by which they can make a very light matter of bis lieurtless profligacy. They think it impertinent lo cull his vices by their right nainesand muke thorn nil element in tho judgment to be passed upon so great a man. But both there and here, those persons lo whose apprehension the inoral law is a reality, and moral purity a trait of at least equal dignity with poetic talent, will adhere to their old fashioned notions, even though the character of Goethe himself be inquestion. With them blackness must stand us black, and be culled black. Tito vices which involve treachery und cold blooded trifling with the peace and virtue of others; arc of the sort which there is leust occasion lo pulliute for charity’s sake. With tho eye of an artist, and tho intruded equanimity of profound self- love, he could calmly survey the ruin he had wrought in the hearts that confided in him. He do- rived tnaierial for poetry from sufferings which he had him.clf wnntor.ly cuused, and one cun hardly uvuid the impression, that he inwardly felicitated himself upon the rich accession to his artistic do- muin furnished by such precious experiencies. II this is hursh judgment upon Goethe, tho voice of his courtesy is answerable for it, and not I. And yet this bad man—why should I hesitate nl the expression 1—this bad man, we are assured by the i:ii:iut< d. was the first poet of bis timo. "All that we mean,” it bus beer, said, “ by the higher litera ture of the world, gathers round this man us its ere- nlur." He knew how lo touch the spring of thought aud feeling, more in number, more skilfully and more potently ; than any man iu the two genera- turns which bis lifetime covered, lie could deal like n muster with the highest spiritualities, and hold a mirror to the holiest moral capabilities bid den in the recesses of the soul. So say bis admi rers, and they aru too many and strong to bo flatly contradicted yet. So then this false ntan Itns succeeded ns a true poet! Must 1 then surrender my position7 No. not for a' hundred Goethes. He bus not succeeded definitely us a true poet ot the highest order. It is loo soon'to uflirm that point settled in bis favor against so much contradiction. The sharpness nnd marvellous reach of bis intellectual eye, the breadth of his understanding, the compuss of bis imagination, und bis consummate skill in literary execution, none will deny. And he bad a power. Altogether unupproached by any oilier man, to sup ply by imagination, observation and appropriation; those moral elements, or the resombluiice of them, which could have Imd no vital being within himself, except ns tho reminiscences of blussed suaceptibili. ties that must have graced his spirit in its youth. His powerful skill in this, us in other things, tiro wonderful. That is, lit was a great, nn unequull. ed Artist,—Artist, that is the term every where Hp. plied to him—a term which, as applied to literary tneu, 1 am sorry to find is getting inio some repute amongst us ns a term of commendation. In Eu- repo it is generally u term of disparagement, as in- dictating a writer whose inspiration passed not through the heart, und whoso lofty sentiments liuve no home in his own- soul and no expression in iiis MILLHDttEVlLLE, TUESDAY. NOVEMBER 26, IH44. NO-9. discerned. It is found that, after all, he is not the limit wh»reaches tlie holy of holies in the soul; tltut though he dazzles lie does not warm, thoogli lie slim lie does not exalt; that ha is no priest of God. Already the German heart is setting itself right in the matter. It lakes no Goethe, but Schil ler fur ils idol. Its love and enthusiasm run to Schiller, the true man, the earnest, whole-souled muu, whose great, glowing heart only just pours forth its own inbred emotions and aspirings ; the man to whom a generous affection, and a noble conception and aim is no more scientific and avail, able fact, but a vital experience, an inmost and ab sorbing reality, gushing from Ids soul for very ful ness. It is hit name, his history, Iiis poetry, not Goethe’s, that makes the German oyo glisten, and the Gerinuu breast heave with fond enthusiasm und exalting sympathies. It is so ; it must and ought to be so ; it will be more and more, there nnd every where. Tlie world w ill not separate the man from bis works, because lie cannot separate himself from them. The identity, though disgusted for a lime, will uppeur. Though his bingrspliy were never written, nor bis name divulged, it will appear, and both he and Iiis works go to their own place. The spider cunnot spin the silkworm’s cocuon, though his separute threads may look as fine and bright in the sunshine for a while. Tile fulso cannot stand in place of the true. Whenever und in whomsoev er thu artest outruns the man, time will outrun lhain both nnd run them down. When Goethe, and such as he, shall have come to be admired nnd studied only by the few for the purpose of a peculiar artistic culture, Schiller, and such as he, will still be tna- king their wuy from the heart, blessing and being blessed, and culling forth glad and lofty res ponses from all that is noble in human souls throughout the world. Napoleon Leaving Pnrb for a Campaign. In the imperial palace, it wss never known be forehand. the week, or even the day, when Napo leon would quit his residence lo luke the command of his troops. It was invnriubly expected, that ull the officers, both civil and military, should be rea dy to follow him at a moment’s notice ; for he never informed those whom lie wished lo luke with him, until u few hours liofore Iiis departure; and, as they k new not the place he would go to, each 01 e patiently waited until tho Grand Marshal should communicate the orders of the Emperor. Those orders once given, the preparations for the journey were soon mndo ; we were then ready lo follow Napoleon to the end of the world, if lie had ordered us. At the lime to which lam referring he chose to depart from St. Cloud iu the middle of the night, accompanied in Iiis carriage by his grand Mur- shul, and grand Equerry, and passed over, with the rapidity of light, a space of one hundred and fifty-French leagues in less than tliirty.six hours. The order of the journey was as follows :— On the loft side of the carriage, an aid-de-camp, on service road, on the light, tho equerry on ser vice, tlie oilier nid ile-camp, the equerries, tho or. dorly officers, the Mameluke Rustan, and the do mestics of tlie suite, accompanied tlie carriage; while all these were followed by un escort of the Chasseurs of the guard, and the guides, eummnnd- ed by an officer. On they precipitated themselves like a hurricane, in full trot, night ns well as by day for eight, ten, nnd even twelve leagues, sometimes without even halting. We, who wero obliged to follow this whirlwind, during the night above all, were, us you might suppose, not very well at our ease, lo places where the road might bo narrow, we would sometimes run tine upon another, and with an ardor and zeul that had the appearance of something snvage in it. Evil to him who was not a good horseman, or perfectly sure of his horse, for in tumbling lie would be sure of being trod under feel by the horses in his roar, before their riders would be able lo arrest their speed. On went the torrent,—on we precipitated ourselves, in heat or iu r. in, on tho ice, across the snow, the dust or the mist ; lo be always within the reucli of the voice of our master, or lo obtain one single look from him—Those who least suffered the futiguj were the orderly officer, the page, the groom, and twelve chasseurs of the guard, who ail preceded the car tinge at about six paces. These not having the fear of reprimand, iu consequouce of the postilions regulating their movements by tho pace of their horses. Napoleon, nowiihstanding, almost con stantly thought, that the postilions never drove quite fast enough "They go along like ducked bens I” he would exclaim, whilst striking his fist against the side of tlie carriage, “wo shall never arrive !” Then lowering one of tho front snail windows he would thrust out Iiis head,and address himself to to the postillions. •‘Get on ! ure you uslcop ! you make no pro gress, gel oil then !’’ Whenever Napoleon stopped on tho road, the whole of the suite did the same, ur.d dismounted, excepting the chasseurs of thu escort, who remain ed in their saddles. If the Emperor get out of his Deserted Village—A sad Picture. It will be remembered llmt the village of Wood, ville, Miss., wus visited by the yellow levor during the past season, und llmt death and desolation fol lowed iu its train. The Woodville Republican gives the following touching and puthelic descrip tion of tlie desolation produced by the epidemic : “Oar lieurl is heavy and ulmosl desola'o, our spirits die within us, as no sit down and think of Ihe scenes of the last few weeks. We have just crawled from the brink of the gruve, and pausing in feebleness and exhaustion not far from the door wav, we look around for “old familiar fuces’’— but wo see them nut. The ejes that beamed upon us iu joyful welcome, will look upon us no tnore.— The voices eloquent and harmonious, to which we loved lo listen, nre still, and tlie hands that spoke the warm heart’s friendshio in their manly pres, sure, stitrand cold, nre crossed upon those fuitliful bosoms whence we have been nccustomed to de. rive counsel aud encouragement, now as still and unfeeling as tlie clods that lie above them. •We call, but they ansuer not again," and love in all their anguish seemed constrained to inquire, “Do they love us yet 7” But the question (alls without an echo, and no answer comes back from that shore where our friends that so lately wulked these streets with us, have gone. We look uround us. Yonder heap in many a row, lie gathered into one neighborhood the old and the young—the rich and tho poor; all carriage, four of the guides would dismount fix the cares and anxieties of life forgotten ; and tlm \ bayonets, present arms,and remain uround him in tenements tlmt held those fiery spirits are as quiet ) single files ; but uot an officer moved from Iiis now as if they Imd never been aught save part and { pluce, unless Napoleon gave the word by saying. and stricken down iu fuil council While •Imtuing bis feeble vuice lo rouse Ihe droopntg spirit of Iiis country, could not but he remembered with peculiar veneration and tenderness. Detraction nus over awed. The voice even of a just temperate een. sure was mute. Nothing was remembered but the lofty genius, the unsullied probity, the undisputed services, nf Inin who wus no mure. For unco nil parlies were agreed. A public funeral, a puhlio monument, were eagerly voted. The debts of the deceased were paid. A provision «»s made for his family. The city of London requested llmt the remains of the great mun whom she Imd so long loved and honored might rest under tlie dome of Iter magnificent cathedral.' Bat the petition came loo late. Everything wus already prepared for lito interment iu Wcstm nsicr Abbey. Though men of nil parties Imd concurred in de. croeing postliumus honors to Chatham, his corpse wus attended to tho grave almost exclusively by op ponents of the government. The banner ol tlie lordship of Chatham was home ity Colonel Bar re. ultended by the Duke ol Richmond and Lord R >ck■ inglmm. Burke, Suvile and Donning upheld the pall. Lurd Camden was conspicuous in thu pro cession. The chief mourner ivns young William Pitt. Alter the lapse of more limn twenty-seven years in a season us dark and perilous, his own shattered frame, aud broken Iteurl wero laid, with the sunte pomp, in the same consecrated mould. Clmiliuin sleeps near the northern door of the Church, iu u spot which Ims ever since been appro priated lo statesmen, aft the other end of llm same transept Ims long been to poets. Munsfield rests there und the second William Pill, and Fox. and Grattan, and Canning und Wilborfnrce. lu no other Cemetry do so many greut citizens lie within so narrow a space. High over those vencruble graves towers the stately monument of Chatham, and from above, Iiis own effigy, graven by u cun ning hand, seems still, with eagle (uce and out stretched arm, to bid England be of good cltcer, und to burl defiance at her foes. The generation which reared that memotial of him lias disappeared. The time has come when the rash and indiscriini. natojudgments which his contemporaries passed on his character may bo calmly revised by history. And history, while, for t e warning of velmtnout, high and daring natures, site notes bis mnnv errors, will yet deliberately prunouuee, tlmt, among the eminent tnen whoso bones lie ncur his, seurcely one Ims left a more stainless, aud none a more splendid name. Macauly in the Edinburgh Review. •Jr?. parcel of llmt dust with which they now mingle. The terrible disease Ims rubbud us of many of the very best citizens of which we could boast.— With the grasp ofau invisible Hercules its almighty bund came down upon the hearts of men, crushing out the very spark of life, ere peoplo were well u. ware that their friends were in danger. Then came the sound sight of woe, such as our little vil lage never conceivod of beforo. The anvil ceased to echo forth its clung, the sledge was unlifted, the bellows breutbed not, the fire of tho furnace burn ed out. The saw, the plane, ur.d the hammer grew still. Merchants shut up their stores, aud walked borne to die. No sound canto upon the ear, save the clink of the hummer, or the grating of the saw, as the undertaker bustily threw together the lust nar row withdrawing room of poor mortality. Then there wus suffering. Disease and deu' It soon bud a great majority, and the vory few ttiat remained lo take care of the many sick, looked more like the ghosts of those who had died, than living men and women. People fled their homes in flight nnd consterna tion. Every thing seemed to parluke of the gen eral terror. The foliage of the trees turned yel low, the sky wus of a pulo sickly green, nnd for six weeks the hollow wind came from the north und east incessantly, with a dealliliness in its touch e- nough lo shutter tlie nerves of the hcullhy. Our streets were deserted. Tim Grass bid fair to spring up where merry feet Imd so recently gone down. Yet there wus one road in which uu grass grew. It led lo tlm grave yard. Along llmt track llm hearse constant ly journeyed with its gloomy rumble, followed by a few friends of those within it, nnd obliged lo slack its pace again and again to let the tottering inva lids, that struggled Imrd to follow, come up—poor half-sick, creatures, expending their last strength in this lust sud office of friendship, a tiecd soon lo tie performed for many oflhuin, by others us feeble us themselves. But the disease Ims nearly ceased its ravages— only because there ure no more subjects to ucl up on. It Ims swept us like fire und whirlwind. Had it been in New.York city with its teeminc thou sands, aud been ns I'uiul in proportion as it bus with us, it would liuve swept off' fifty thousand per sons. Encouraging Hints.—Don't he discouraged, if, in llm out-set of life, tilings do not go smoothly. — It seldom happens that tlm hopes we cherish for the future are realized. The path of life appears smooth aud level ; hut when we travel it. we find it all up hill, and generally rough enough. The journey is a laborious one ; aud, whether poor or wealthy, high or low, we slrnll find it to our disap pointment if wo build on any other calculation.— To endure it with U9 much cheerfulness ns possible, aud to elbow our way through tlm grent crowd, hoping for little, yet striving for much," is, per. haps, the best plan. Don’t be divcouruged, if oc. casiormlly you slip down bv the way and your neigh, hour trends over you a littlo, or, in other words, don’t let a failure or two dishearten you. Acci dents will happen, miscalculation will sometimes be made ; things will turn out differently from our expectations slid we may be sufferers. It is worth while to remember that fortune is like tlm skies in April, sometimes clear and favorable; and as it would bo folly to despair of again seeing the suit, hecausn the dny is stormy, so it is unwise to sink into despondency when fortune frowns, since, in tlm common course of tilings, slm may surely be ex pected tu smile and smile again. Dismount, gentlemen.'’ If any of llioso who were to have joined him, re mained in the rear, they sometimes did uot arrive at bead quarters until a day alter a victory, or per. Imps the campaign bad ended.—Tales of the camp and Cabinet, Col. John Montmorency Tucker. Goethe is an artist—only that, though »o great I think lie will not always be put foremost among the true and llm noble poets. Ho was uot a true man, and therefore,cannot stand there. Already, though still in tho zenith of his glory. U j« widely felt that ho U in some sense a splendid impostor; The radical deficiency in him la beginning to ba Two aoRTs of Blessings —"It is a blessing to possess whatono wishes," said some one to an an cient philosopher, who replied," it is a greater bless- iug still not to desire what one does not possese." St. Augustine is by more limn forty years the old. cat town in tlm United Slates Houses io it standing yet which are said lo huve been built many year* before Virginia was colonized, The Closing scenes lu the Life of Lord Chatham, Til • Duke of Richmond had given notice of un address to tlm throne against llm further prosecu tion of hostilities with America. Chathum Imd, during some time, absented himself Item Parlia ment, in consequence of Iiis growing infirmities. He determined to appear in Iiis place on this occn. stun, aud tu declare tlmt Iiis opinions were decided ly at variance with those ol the Rockingham party. Ho wus in u state of great excitement. His med ical attendants were uneasy, and strongly advised him to calm himself, und to remain at home; But he wus not tube controlled. His son William, and Iiis son-in-law Lord Mahon, accompanied him tu Westminster. Ho rested himself in the Chancel lor’s room till the debate commenced, aud then, leaning on his two young relations, limped lo Iiis seat. Tho slightest particulars of that day weru remembered, and linvo boon carefully recorded. He bowed, it wus remarked, witli great courtliness lo those peers who rose to make wuv for him nnd Iiissupporlets. His crutch was in his hand. He wore, us was his fashion, a rich velvet coat. His legs were swathed io flannel. His wig was so large, and iiis face so emaciated, that none of his fountres could he discerned except Ihe high cutve if the nose, und his eyes, which still retained a gleam of the old fire. When the Duke of Richmond had spoken, Chat ham rose. Fur some time his voice was inaudible At length his lone became distinct aud his action animated. Here and there Iiis hearers caught u thought or an expression which reminded them ol William I’iit. Bui it was clear tltut it was nut him self- He lost the thread of his discourse, hesitated 'epuuted tin; same words several limes, and was so onfused, llmt in speaking of the Act of Settle incut, lie could not re call the name of the Electress Sophia. The House listened in solemn silence ind with the nspcct of profound respect nud coin passion. The stillness wus so deep thut the drop- ,ling of a handkerchief would have been heard rile Duke of Richmond replied with greut tender ness and cuurlosy ; but, while lie spoke, the old man was ebserved lo bo restless and irritable I’he Duke sal down. Chutbum stood up ugnin pressed his band on bis breast, and sank down in in apoplectic fit. Three or four lords who sat near tint caught him iu bis full. The House broke up .n confusion. The dying tnnn was carried to the residence of one of the officers of Parliament, and : wus so far restored as lo bo uble lo bear a journey io Hayes. At Huyes, after lingering a few weeks lie expired in bis seventieth year. His bed was wutched to tlie lust, with anxious tenderness, by iiis wife and children ; und bo well deserved their cure Poo often haughty and wayward lo others, to them lie bad been utmost effeminately kind. He Imd through life been dreaded by Iiis political opponents and regarded with more awe than love even by his political associates. But no fear seems to liuve mingled with affection which Ins fondness, con staully overflowing in a thousand endearing forms had inspired in the little circle at Hayes. Chatham, at thu lime of bis deeeuse, bad not, in both Ho ises of Parliament, ten personal adherent Half the public men of the age Imd been estrang ad from him by Ins errors, and the other half by tlie exertions which he had made to repuir Iiis cr rors. His last speech hud been an ulluck nl once on tho policy putsued by tlie government, and oil the policy rucuinmetidcd by the position. But death ul once restored him to his old pluce iu the nffeciion of Iiis country. Who could hear unmoved of the fall of that which had been so great, and which had stood so lung 7 Tlie circumstances, ton, seem ed rather to belong lo the tragic stage thun to tea life. A great statesman, full of yenrs and honors > led forth to Ihe seaato-housc by a sun uf rare hope Knighting of King Louts Philippe.—Tho fol. lowing is an interesting description of ilic investi ture of the King of lhe French ns u Knight nf the Most Noble Orderuf tlie Garter, by Queen Viclo. riu, at Windsor Castle, on tlie 12ili of October. A chapter ol the Most Noble Order of the Gur- ter having been summoned yesterday uflernoon at half past two o’clock, the Knights’ Companions as. ■ambled iu the guard chamber, and were robed by Mr. Hunter und Mr. Edo, in their ningniricenl mantles of purple velvet with tlie crimson velvet hoods. Tho Prelate and the Chancellor of the Order wore their mantles of purple velvet, and also the badge of the Order. Tlie Register, Garter King of Arms, nnd the gentleman Usher of tlie Black Rod appeared in their mantles of crimson suliu, and woru tlioir chains nnd badges, Garter King of Arms ulso curry ing bis sceptre. The sword of slate was borne by Sir William Martins, gentleman usher. When tlie Queen was about to enter the throne- room, tlie knights passed from the guard chamber, liuving been summoned by Garter King of Arms, and passed into the grand recupiion room, and were there arranged, und waited until the Sovereign and Iiis Royal Highness Prince Albert were iri (lie throne room. They were then culled over by Gar- ter, nnd with the officers of tlie order preceeded in to the presence of the Sovereign. The sovereign being seated in the chair of state, the knight companions took their respective souls al the table, the Prelato standing on the right hand f her Majesty, the Chancellor on the left ; the Register and Black Rod stood at the bottom of the table. Tlie Chancellor then acquainted tlie Sovereign that Sir Charles George Young, kuiglil, garter prin cipal king of arms, was attending ul tlie door, und humbly prayed to bo admitted to take the oath of (lice us chief officer of arms of this most noble or- tier. Garter, in his mantle and wearing the chain nd badge of iiis office, was then, by '.lie Queen’s command, introduced, and knelt on the left bund ido ncnr tlie Sovereign ; the oath wus then ad ministered to him by the Chancellor. Garter, ris ing, mnde Iiis obeisance to the Sovereign, nnd hav ing kissed bands, withdrew to his place ul llie but tom of l be table. The Chancellor then, by command of her Majesty, read u new statute, dispensing with ihe existing sin- tucs in us fur us might be required for lito especial purpose therein mentioned, decreeing, and enjoin- ng that bis Majesty Louis Philippe, King of the French, be declared a knight of tlie Most Noble Order of the Garter, nny stature, decree, rule, or usage,to tlie coutrary, notwithstanding. Thu King of the French was thereupon, by tlie Sovereign’s command, conducted from Iiis Mujes- try’s apartments to the Chapter Room, between the wo senior knights companions preseni, viz; Iiis Royal Highness Prince Albert and Ills Royal High ness the Duke of Cambridge, preceded by Garter (bcuriiig the ensigns of the orner upon u crimson velvet cushion,) and by Black Rod. On entering the Chapter Room, Iiis Majesty was received by tlie Queen und the knights companions standing, und wus seated in a chair of Stute on the right hand of her Majesty. The Queen (hen announced to the King of the French that Iiis Majesty hud been declared elected a knight of tlie Must Noble Order of the Uurler. Gutter, kneeling, presented the garter to the Sovereign, nnd her Majesty, assisted by bis Royal Highness Prince Albert, and Iiis Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, buckled it on thu left leg of the Kirtg, the Chancellor pronouncing ihe minium lion. Garter next presented, in like manner, the ri band with the George, and the Queen, assisted as before, put tlie same over thu left slinkier of lilt) King, tlie Chancellor pronouncing thu udmoiii- tion. Her Majesty thereupon gavu the necuilude to the King of the French, and Iiis Majesty received the congratulations of uuuli of tint Knights Companions present, passing uround the tuliiu and shaking hands witli each. 'Pile knights uf the most noble order present wore:—His Royal Highness Prince Albert. Iiis Royal Highness ihe poke of Cambridge, the Duke of Ruiiuud, the Duke of Wellington, the Marquess of Anglesey, the Duke of Devonshire, tint Marquess of Exeter, tlie Duka of Bucclouuli, the Marquess of Lansdowns, the Murquess of Westminister, the Duke of Beuufort, tlio Duke of Buckingham, nnd tile Murquess of Suilsbury. Tlie officers of ihe nriler present were :—The Prolate, llie Bishop of Winchester, iIn; Chancellor, the Bishop of Oxford ; the Regisiet, the Hon. anil very Rev. the Dean of Windsor ; Gurior King of _ __«f—NiniW Into' led wi ti(mined With ‘jptld, The ohidnoTt Q men end his Mijnstjr Louis PMIIlipp* i curved nud gilt, and covered with purple velvet, as were also the scats of (he various knigtlte. O.i the steps of the throne, which her Maj whs seiiteil, stood M. Guizot and Sir Robert also tlie Earl of Aberdeen, Admiral de Mackae, General Atiiulin, General Rumigoi,Colonel Domed, Count de Jurnuc.uud oilier gentlemen ol the KiagV suite. At the other end of the Garter.Room; oil one side were sealed, during the august ceremony, bar Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, her Royal Highness tlie Duchess of Cambridge, and the He reditary Grand Duchess ol Mecklenburg Strelitz’; and on the opposite side were seated his Royal Highness the Duka deMonlpensier and hts Royal Highness the Hereditary Grand Duko of Mecklen- liurg Strelitz. Tlie Countess cf Gainsborough, lady in waiting; Lady Charlotte Duudiit, lady in waiting on IM Duchess of Ken!; Lady G. Bathurst, in waiting on ihe Duchess of Cambridge ; the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, the Captain of the honorable corps of Gentlemen at-Arms, the Treasurer of tho Household, the Comptroller of the Household, Lord Byron, Lord in waiting; Sir George Couper, In waiting on the Duchess of Kent; and Baron Knees, beck, in wailing on the Duchess of Cambridge, stood behind the royal circle. All the officers of the household appeared in their full dress official costumes. Viscum t Sydney, lord in waiting on the King ;. Lord Charles Wellesley (clerk marshal), equerry in waiting, intended ihe King from his apartments, nnd stood near his Majesty during Ihe oeremony. The King w as habited in a uniform of dark blue, with gold epaulettes and appointments. Tho Queen appeared in the mantle of Ihe order o( the Garter, wearing the motto " Honi soil qurmaly pense," as n brnco'et. Her Mujesty also wore her splendid diamond tiara. Soon lifter the King had resumed bis sent, after the conclusion ol tlie ceremony, the Queen rose, and taking the arm of her illustrious guest, accompanied Iiis Majesty to his own apart* menu,followed by Prince Albert,and preceded by llie Lord Chamberluin nud (lie Lord Steward, the pages of honor in waiting bearing her Majesty’s train. The Queen’s honorable corps of Gentlcmen-at- Arms were present at the ceremony. The Hon- urub e Sir E. Butler, lieutenant; Mr. H. Robinson, standard bearer; Mr. J. B. Curling, clerk of the cheque ; nnd Sir R; Smith were also in attendance. Thu honorable emps formed the guard of honor in llie apartments of ihe King of the Frenclqand lined the Queen’s drawing-room as well as the chapter- room. The Yeomen of the Guard wero on duty near the grand staircase, under the command of the Earlof Beverly, captain of the corps ; Mr. G. P. Lee, tlie lirulenunt ; Captain Sadler, exon in waiting ; and Mr. Ellcrilmrpe, clerk of tho cheque. A Guard ofhonor from the Scots rustlier Guards, with the band of the regimont was on duty within the grand quadrangle, and received the Royal Pam. ily with the usual honors. After tlie iuvosiitute the knighle and officers of tlm order, the Indies and gentlemen of the royal suites, nud the officers in wailing on the occasion, partook of u dejeuner. ...... _ ling tlie «il»e* iu Ills pockst. Arms, Sir Charles Young-; ami (be Gcuiletunn j the beiieGlsof science! New Orleans Guessing Institute. Mnenotkchey eclipsed—New England ahead the "Professors” nowhere.—A seedy son of New England found himself, recently,all alone, unknown und "hard up," in New Orleans. Of course he soon scl about guessing sumo way lo keep out of the scrape ; und, before he had quite whittled his stick away, be became ubsorded in the inception of a grand thought.—li seems,sitting dutvn lo guess, bis uslule bruin made a plunge, at once, among the metaphysical and scientific ramifications of guess ing : und, not lung after, lie might have been ob. seivetl, with a sober suit of twinkle in his eye, marching off’along the "Levee” apparently looking foru house lo let, humming— Yankee Dandle coins along ! When fortune lulls distressing, There's nothing like a Yankee tong, And rcientifn: gueBeing. Eurly next dny, our hero and another odd look ing genius were seen on u ludder, nailing up n broad strip ol eun-ass ull across the front of a house on the levee ; und the job being completed, there was displayed in flaring, sprawling, struggling, bro- kon-bucked, decapitated, knock-kneed, round, shouldered, bow-legged, limping letters, Roman, German, Hebrew, caligrapbic,chirographic, Ara bian, Amcricun und poibook-ian letters: NU UULEENS 0ESSIN0 INS1T00T. GE8SINQ TAUT IN ONE LESSEN. Only 25 five cents. Thu tiling produced n senation, at once, among sailors, pedlars, levee laborers, and ail aorta of stragglers. Our professor borrowed un old rotten awning, bung it up, und divided his room into two, pul his assistant ul the door to take in quarters, turned u tin cup insido down in the middle of an old- rickety table, got a vial of vinegar, pot of tar, a hot- ile of whiskey, und various other well known odoriferous affairs arranged around him ; and with- u black sknli-cup on his liuad, and a red slick in hit hand, he mnde no hud “splurge" at the representa tion ul'n modern Fnusl. Madame Lud might have- taken n iu-son from him (“you underiland me now '!” ) und Herr Alexander should have seen him. He drew a mystic ring on the ceiling with charcoal, filling it up with most indiscribable "cur licues," right over the table, and business soon corn# meuced. In struggled an open-moutb inquirer after the- mysteries of guessing. ‘•Stranger good morning; walk up and pro scribe yourself as it true inquirer after the irrevo- Intinu*of Gusseulugy. Put your hind upon the- convened tin cup. Very well. Lift right hand to the ceiling, nnd fix your eyes upon the magie circle. So. Now,if you wink or remove your eye, you’ll ruin thu hul business, stranger ; so, jest hold still. Now I percede lo provoke the guessing -peril tu descend upon you. " W hni do you smell 7” ‘•Vinegar." “Crimini jingo ! you lorn fast ! What’s this/" ••Turn's tur.” ••Right again, my pupil; what’s this!” ••Brimstone.” • G.mil; you envelope the family raaly amaz ing ! Gin you guess what this is 7" ••Whiskey, by (bunder !” •‘All creation ! how quick you take it! aro you sure its whiskey 7” "Sure ! well, I recon !” ••You'd belter tosto it und see. It it whiskey 1" ‘•Well, ii is.” “ I'nken good swig, then; you’ll do, stranger; you’re ready to graduate Coine in, next. Hallo ! mister don’t tuku that bottle away." One after another, as fast as he could dispose of ilu ni, tlie professor found his customers sideling hall shtly iu upon him all dny long, and when, now und ihun, duo would exhibit a belligerent spi* rit, between good humor and whiskey, tlie New England magician still managed lo send him ofT satisfied. Every body coming out was questioned Ity the eager crowd iu wailing as to "whnt sort of u stmw it wus anyhow 7" and Ihe answer was pret. i> generally the sail.e : “First rate, end no mis. take ; and the last experiment is worth half the money !" I n<> professor counted Itie receipts that night, mid finding n round sum lu help him on Weil,sold Ids "insiiioot” fur a premium to his enterprising ussisiiiirt; und tho next morning he was off, jing- , aud blessing devoutly