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RECOVERY OF A FEMALE AFTER EX
ECUTION.
The following account of the case of n poor
girl who was unjustly executed in 1766, is
given by a celebrated French author, as an
instance of hie injustice which was often com
mitted by the equivocal mode of trial used in
France:
“About seventeen years since a young
peasant girl, possessed of a very agreeable
ligure, was placed at I’aris in the service of a
man depraved by all die vices consequent on
Ihe corruption of great cities. Smitten with
her charms, I e tried every method to seduce
her; but she was virtuous, and resisted. The
prudence of ibis gi l only irritated the passion
of Iter master, who not being able to make her
submit to bis wishes, determined on the most
black and horrible revenge. He secretly con
veyed into her box many th’ngs bekmgino’ to
him, marked with Ins name, lie then ex
c'aimed that be was robbed, called in a com-*
missaire, (a ministerial officer of justice,) and
made bis deposition, The gill’s box was
searched, and die things were discovered.—
The unhappy servant was imprisoned. She
defended heisell only by her tears; she had
no evidence to prove that she did not put the
properly in her box; and the only answer to
the intenogalories was, that she was innocent.
The judges had no suspicion of the depravity
of the accuser, whose station was respectable,
and they adunnis.eicd the law in all its rigor;
a rigor undoubtedly excessive, which ought
to disappear from our code to give place to a
simple but certain penalty, which would leave
few'er crimes unpunished. The innocent girl
was condemned to be hanged. The dreadful
office was mi ffictually performed, as it was
the lirsl attempt of the son of the great exe
cutioner. A surgeon had purchased the body
lor dissection, and it was conveyed to his
house. On that evening, being about to open
the head, lie perceived a gentle warmth about
the body. The dissecting-knile fell from bis
hand, and be placed in bis bed Iter whom he
was about to dissect. Uis ellbrts to restore
her were effectual; and at tbe same time be
sent for a priest, on whose discretion and ex
perience he could depend, in order to consult
with him on this strange event, as well as to
have him lor a witness teller conduct. The
moment the unfortunate girl opened her eyes
she believed herself in the other world, and
perceiving tbe figure of tbe priest, who bad a
marked and majestic countenance, (for 1 know
him, and it (tom him ti nt 1 have this fact,) she
joined iter bands tremblingly, and exclaimed,
• Eternal Father, you know my innocence,
have mercy on me !’ In ibis manner she con
tinued to invoke the ecclesiastic, believing,
in her simplicity, that she beheld her God.—
They were long in persuading her that she
was not dead —so much bad tbe idea of pun
ishment and death possessed her imagination.
Nothing could be more touching and more
expressive than ihe cry of an innocent being,
who thus approached towards bint whom she
regarded as her Supreme Judge; and inde
pendently of her affecting beauty, this single
spectacle was sufficient to create the most
livelv interest in the breast of an observing
and sensible man. What a scene lor a painter!
What a moral for a philosopher! What a
lesson for a legislator!
“ The process was not submitted to anew
revision, as was stated in the Journal de Paris.
The servant having returned to life, recog
nized a man in whom she had adored, and
who, directing her prayers towards the only
adorable being, quitted tiie house of the sur
geon, who was doubly unquiet on her account
and his own. Site retired to hide herself in a
distant village, fearing to meet the judges or
the officers, who, with a dreadful tree, inces
santly haunted her imagination. The villian
ous accuser remained unpunished, because his
crime, though manifest to the eyes of the two
individual witnesses, was not so clear to the
eyes of the magistrates and the laws. The
people subsequently became acquainted with
the resurrection of the girl, and loaded with
repr. aches the execrable iauthor of her misery;
hut, in this immense city, his offences was soon
forgotten, and the monster perhaps still
breathes; at least, he has not publicly suffered
the punishment which he deserves.
A book should be published containing a
collection of cases in which innocent persons
have been punished, in order, by showing the
causes of error, to avoid them for the future.
Perhaps some man of the law may undertake
this imporiant work.
An Irish gentleman thus addressed an in
dolent servant, who indulged himself in bed at
a late hour in the morning: “Fall to rising!
you spalpeen, fill to rising!—Don’t stand there
lying in bed all day!”
Rcnkini* foh in Office.— a fellow was
seen running up Front street, when a friend
inquired. “ W hat are vmi running for?” “I
am running for an office.” “What office?”
•‘Squire Rowley's—d——n it, I’m sued!”
THE COLUMBUS TIMES.
THE LAST TEAR I
BY ROBERT JO*ELTX.
The Ja~t tear I shed, was the warm one h*t fell,
As I kissed thee, dear mother, and bade thee farewell;
When I saw the deep anguish, impressed on thy face,
And felt, fir the last time, a mother’s embrace :
And heard thy choked accents, impassioned and wild,
God hi ess thee foiever, God bless thee, my child!
I thought of my boyhood, thy kindness to me,
W hen younge.-t and dearest, I sat on thy knee ;
Os thy luve to me'ever bo fondly expressed,
As I grew up to manhood, unconscious how blest;
Os thy praises when right, and thy eludings when
wrong,
W iuie wayward with passions unyielding and strong.
I thought of thy counsels, unheeded or spurned,
As mirth had enlivened or anger had burned,
And how, when by sickness all helpless 1 lay,
i hou didst nurse me and soothe me by Light and bv
day;
llow much I had been both thy sorrow and joy.
And mv feelings o’erflowed and wept like a boy.
Years, years of endurance have vanished, and now
There is pain in my heart, there is care on my brow >
The visions of hope and of fancy are gone,
And cheerless, I travel life’s pathway alone.
Alone! aye, alone, thougli some kind ones there be,
1 iiere are none here to love me, to love me like thee.
My mother, dear mother, cold-hearted they deem
Thy offspring, but oh I I am not what I seem ;
Thouyh, calmly and tearless, all changes 1 bear,
Could they look in my bosom the feeling is the.e!
And now. sad and lonely, as memory recalls
The blessing at parting, again the tear falls.
II illy Sjuiiigs, (Miss.) Jan. 31, 1841.
From the Knickerbocker.
NEAMATHLA,
TIIF. HEAD CHIEF OF THE CREEK INDIAN NATION.
Alter General Jessup had reduced the Creek
naiA’> in 18J36, or supposed he had reduced
them, a general amnesty was proclaimed, with
a view to negotiate for emigration. The In
dians were permitted and invited to approach
the camp of the army, and intermingle with
the white population. They ranged at large,
unarmed, among the troops, and in the coun
try round. It could not at once be ktuwn
who had submitted, for the purooseof emigra
tion. Those who were still hostile in their
feelings, were encouraged to approach, with
the more friendly, in the hope of persuading
them to comply with the treaty stipulations,
which had been broken in the recent war.
Among those who had given up to emigrate,
were two daughters of Neamathla, young and
unmarried. They were the idols of the old
chief’s heart. He himself was not the man
to surrender, nor to comply with the terms
which had been prescribed to his people. The
head of the nation ; great in council great in
war, indomitable in spirit; knowing and com
prehending the injuries of his race, without
being able to appreciate the reasons or views
of the white man; he was animated by all
those sentiments which are most approved and
admired in all true patriot-', the world over.—
lie had aroused his people to arms; they had
fought, and been conquered; and he now heard
in Ins hiding place that his children, his daugh
ters, had been persuaded to emigrate. He
resolved at once that those so near and dear
to him should not be thus violently and cruel
ly severed from his society, while he remained
to die alone, with none to close his eyes, and
wail over his grave.
Laying aside the emblems of his chieftain
ship, and disguising himseif in the garb of the
most common Indian, lie mounted a peney,
and rode into the camp, where the Indians
were roaming at large, in search of his daugh
ters, He found them, and tiie following dia
logue ensued:
‘My children, ’ said the chief, ‘it has grieved
me to hear that you have consented to go, and
leave your lather to die alone.’
‘Our lather knows,’ said the eldest gir;, of
about eighteen years, ‘ that the white man is
here, and that the blood of our people has run
into the rivers. Nor did we know until this
happy hour that tho blood of our father had
not gone with them to the great sea, to make
it red. What, father, can we do !’
The blushing, burning cheek of the maiden
told the deep sympa'hy she felt for her race,
and the more tender anxiety for a parent whose
resolves she well knew could not be broken
by her entreaties.
‘My child!’ said the chief—standing erect,
and fixing his piercing eye upon her, while
the younger sister sat mute and abashed, with
equal concern—‘my child! will you then leave
me !’
‘No, father!’ said the yielding and dutiful
girl, throwing herself at ids feet. ‘No, lather!’
said the younger, casting herself into the same
position. ‘And where shall we ffy!’ asked
both, together.
‘ Yonder is my pony,’ said the chief; ‘mount
with me, and 1 will soon bear you away !’
In a lew moments, Neamathla, with one of
his daughters before, and the other behind, on
tiro same beast—a sight not unusual, at least
not very remarkable among the indians—was
seen wending his way out of the Indian en
campment. Disguised as his person was, his
well-known lace could not be concealed,
though the marks of sorrow had changed it.
None arc more treacherous than the Indians
to each other, when once their hearts are
gained or bought over to another party. Ne
amathla was recognized; and a runner was
soon on his way to announce the fact to Gen.
Jessup, that the chief of the nation had just been
seen, bearing off his two daughters.
Great endeavors had been made to find and
bring over Neamathla, but in vain. It was
known, too, that the nation would be reluctant
to emigrate while he was left behind. Orders
were immediately issued by the General to
have the old man tracked, arrested, and brought
back. The mission was successful. With
no power to resist, the chief was forced to
yield to the rude assaults of his own people ;
and it was soon announced to General Jessup,
that Neamathla and his daughters were at
Fort Mitchell. Desirous of making an im
pression of his power, as well as of a friendly
disposition, the General ordered the most pom
pous military display that could be made,
erected a sort of military court, took his seat
at the head of it, and ordered the chief into
his presence.
Erect, unmoved, apparently not noticing the
beat of drum and the signs of power with
which lie was surrounded, the venerable chief,
in charge of a military escort, walked firmly!
into the presence of his judge, and faced him,
without turning his eye to any other person or
object. Ills deportment was that of one who
felt that his judge was on trial, and Xeamathla
was there to call him to account. He waited
not to be questioned, but opened the corn”,
himself the questioner.
‘ls this the chief of the white men V said
he, addressing himself to Gen. Jessup, through
an interpreter.
The General, not a little annoyed at the
position in which he found himself at this sud
den and unexpected opening of the conference,
was obliged to say, ‘ Yes.’
‘I wish, then, to know,’ said Neamathla,
‘what the chief of the white men proposes to
do with me!’
‘ To treat you kindly,’ said the General, ‘and
to request that you will comply with the trea
ty, and move towards the setting sun with
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 22, 1841.
your people, where our great father, the Presi
dent, will spread over your nation his wings,
and protect you.’
‘ The chief of the white man is a fool!’ said
Neamathla.
The soldier General, a little discomposed
and nonplussed at this reply, and unable to
change the relative position of himself and liis
antagonist, without defeating his main design,
was compelled to bear this imputation as well
as he might. He attempted to reason with
Neamathla with assumed, and doubtless with
real, kindness.
‘The chief of the white man is a fool!’ re
peated Neamathla, still throwing himself back
on his reserved dignity, and awaiting what
might ensue.
General Jessup still labored to convice his
captive of the propriety and necessity of sub
mitting to the terms of the treaty; but he re
ceived only for answer, * The chief of the white
man is a fool!’ At length the General asked
Neamathla what he would desire.
‘ Neamathla was the enemy of the white
man; he is the enemy of the white man; and
always will be the enemy of the white man.
Were Neamathla the chief of the white man,
sitting there, and the chief of the white man
Neamathla, standing here, Neamathla would
lift his hatchet on the head of his enemy, and
strike him to his feet. The chief of the white
man is a fool!’
‘ 1 am commanded by our great father,’ said
the General, ‘to treat you with kindness.—
Give me your word of honor that you will stay
in the camp, and you shall be permitted to go
at large, as you see your people do, ?.nd eat
out of our dish.’
‘ The chief of the white man is a fool!’ said
Neamathla. ‘Set me free, and I shall not
stay here. But I will roam the land of my
fathers with a free and unshackled limb; 1
will summon the last warrior to vengeance on
our enemies; I will never submit; and will
starve only for lack of the blood of the white
man to drink. The chief of the white man is
a fool!’
‘ But there are your daughters ; do you not
love them V
‘Neamathla loves his daughters, as everv
man does, lias he not proved it, by coining
into the white man’s camp, and taking them
away 1 lie knows not what will become of
them, when a father’s arm can no longer de
fend them. But their father trusts in the
Great Spirit,’ said he, pointing to heaven.—
He paused and looked upon the ground.
Then turning, and glancing through the crowd,
he asked, as if they were near, ‘ Where are
the daughters of Neamathla 1 Neamathla can
answer for them, that they will he happy only
in obeying a father’s voice. The lies of the
white man deceived them.’
Neamathla refusing to give his word of
honor, was of course kept under guard till the
nation were prepared to remove, though al
lowed every indulgence which the safe-keep
ing of his person would warrant. He talked
little, seeming to feel deeply and poignantly the
ignominy of his confinement, and the helpless
ness of his condition. His daughters tenderly
ministered to all his wants, and endeavored
affectionatly to console him. But a sense of
his people’s wrongs, and of humbled, crushed
pride, had taken full possession of his lofty
spirit The chain wore in upon his soul; and
before the emigrating nation had left the land
of their fathers, being on their march, Nea
mathla breathed his last, from the mere action
of grief and sorrow, and was buried, as he had
resolved to be, under the soil which his people
once called their own, bestowed, as tliev pi
ously said, by the. Great Spirit
When we hear or read of the barbarities of
the savage, wo lose our sympathy for his
wrongs. He is the aggrieved [tarty, and pro
secutes war according to his own modes. He
knows no other. Their policy in war is ex
termination, because, judging from the feelings
of their own race, while an enemy breathes,
they are not safe. Universal and indiscrimin
ate massacre is with them deemed a necessity
for self-preservatian. They fear tho white
man, and never fight him till goaded on by a
sense of injury, and by desperate madness.—
It is proper for us to consider, that the Indian
tribes who venture into war with us, fight for
their soil, for their homes, and for their free
dom, and for nothing else ; which all men do,
which we would do, and which airmen would
be despised for not doing. They are the weaker
party, and in our power, and we dispose of
them as we please, for the extension of civili
zation. When great men, by nature great,
endowed with powers which the world is con
strained to admire, die by mere restraint on
their freedom, and by a sense of wrong done
to themselves and their people, without being
able to see any excuse, as was doubtless the
case of Osceola and Neamathla, we do addi
tional wrong to our common nature, to ascribe
to such spirits any baser motive than love of
country and of kindred. Either of these men,
had they been born to move in the higher
spheres of civilization, might have won a “’Na
poleon's fame, or a Caesar’s honors, though we
pretend not to commend or justify tho career
of the one or the other. We speak simplv of
talent; of those native endowments which will
ever command the respect and admiration of
the world.
The Duke and Dutchess of Marlbo
rough.—Two anecdotes are told of the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough, which we think
highly characteristic of this singularly and
highly gifted couple. None of the Duchess’
charms, when they were at their proudest
height, had been so fondly prized hv the poor
Duke, her husband, as her splendid head of
hair. Therefore one day, upon his offendum
her, by some act of disobedience to her ‘sow
ereign will,’ the bright thought occurred as
she sat considering how she could plague ban
most, that it would be a hearty vexation to
see his favorite tresses cut oft. Instantly the
deed was done; she cropped them short, and
laid them into an ante-chamher he must pass
through to enter her apartment; but to her
cruel disappointment, he passed, entered, and
repassed, calm enough to provoke a saint,
neither angry nor sorrowful, seemingly quite
unconscious both of his crime and his punish
ment. Concluding he must have overlooked
the hair, she ran to secure it. Lo! it bad
vanished and she remained in perplexity the
rest of the day. The next as he continued
silent, and her looking-glass spoke the change
—a rueful one—she began to think she had
for once done a foolish thing. Nothing more
ever transpired until after the Duke’s “death,
when she found her beautiful ringiets care
fully laid bv in a cabinet where he kept what
ever he held most precious. We deem this
almost affected. What an adorable vixen
she must have been!
The Duchess survived her illustrious hus
band not iess than twenty-two years, dying
at the age of S4 in 1774.* The love she had
for the Duke may, in no small degree, be im
agined from the following anecdote: Though
in her sixty-third year she still possessed some
attractions, insomuch that she was sought in
marriage bv Lord Conningshy and the Duke
of Somerset. What her answer was to the
former is, we believe, nowhere upon record.
That to the Duke of Somerset is highly char
acteristic, and greatly to be admired : “ Mar
riage is very unsuitable at my age ; but, were
I only thirty, I would aot permit even the em
peror of the world to succeed in that heart
which has been, all my life, devoted to John.
Duke of Marlborough.”— Frazer's Magazine.
TIIE UNION OF THE STATES, AND THE SOVEREIGNTY OF THE STATES.
AARON BURR AND HIS DAUGHTER.
The history of every nation is fraught with
romantic incidents. England has the story of
Alfred, Scotland of her Wallace, her Bruce,
tier Mary, and tier Charles Stuart, Ireland
her Fitzgerald, France her Man with the Iron
mask and Maria Antoinette, Poland her Tha
leus, and Russia her Siberian Exiles. But we
very much doubt whether any exceeds in in
terest the singularly touchtng story of Aaran
Burr ami his highly accomplished, his beauti
ful and devoted daughter Theodosia. The
rise and fall of Burr in the affections of his
countrymen, are subjects of deep historical in
terest. A t one time we see him carried on the
wave of popular favor to such giddy heights
that the Presidency itself seemed almost with
in iiis grasp, which lie only missed to become
the second officer in the new Republic. He
became Vice President of the United States.
How rapid his rise ! and then his fall, how
sudden, lmvv complete ! In consequence of
his duel with Hamilton he became a fugitive
from justfee—is indicted for murder by the
Grand Jury of New Jersey—shes to the
South—lives for a few months in obscurity,
until Ihe meeting of Congress, when lie comes
forth and takes the Chair as President of the
Senate. After tiis term expires, he goes to the
West, becomes the leading spirit in a scheme
of ambition to invade Mexico; (very few will
now believe that lie sought a dismemberment
of the Union) —is brought back a prisoner of
state to R'clm’ond, charged with treason
—tried and acquitted—is forced to leave his
native land to go to Europe. In England he
is suspected, and retires to France, where he
lives in reduced circumstances, at times not
being able to procure a meal of vicluais. Al
ter an absence of several years he finds
means to return home—he lands in Boston
without a cent in his pocket, an object of
distrust to all. Burr had no tidings of his
daughter since his departure from home ; he
was anxOtis to hear from her, her husband,
and her boy, an only child, in whom his whole
soul seemed hound up. The first news he
heard was, that his grandchild died while he
an outcast in foreign lands, which stroke of
Providence he fell keenly, lor he dearly loved
the boy. Theodosia, the daughter of Burr
was the wife of Govenor Allston, of South
Carolina. She was married young, and
while her father was near the zenith of his
fame. She was beautiful and accomplished,
a lady of the finest fee’ings, an elegant wri
ter, a devoted wife, a fond moiher, at.d a most
dutiful and loving daughter, who clung with
redoubled affection to the fortunes of her fa
ther as the clouds of adversity gathered a
round him, and lie was deserted by the friends
whom he formerly cherished. The first duty
Burr performed after Ins arrival here was to
to acquaint Mrs. Allston ot his return. She
immediately wrote back to him that she was
coming to see him, and would meet him in a
few weeks in New York. This letter was
couched in the most affectionate terms, and
is another evidence of the purity and power
of woman’s love.
In the expectation of seeing his daughter in
a few days, Burr received much pleasure.—
She had become Ids all on earth. Wife,
grandchild, friends and all were gone; his
daughter alone remained to cheer and solace
the evening of his life, and to welcome him
back from his exile. Days passed on—then
months, yet naught was heard of Mr. Allston.
Burr grew impatient, and began to think that
she too had left him, so apt is misfortune to
doubt the sincerity of friendship. At length
lie received a letter from Mr. Allston, inquir.
ing if his wife had arrived safe, and stating
that she sailed from Charleston some weeks
previous, in a vessel chartered by him on pur
pose to eonvev her to New York. Not re
ceiving any tidings of her arrival he was anx
ious to learn the cause ol her silence.
What had occurred to delay the vessel?
why had it not arrived—these were questions
which Burr could ask himself hut no one
could answer.
The sequel is soon told. The vessel never
arrived. It undoubtedly founded at sea, and
all on board perished. No tidings have ever
been heard respecting the vessel, the crew or
the daughter of Aaron Burr—all were lost.—
This last sad bereavement was only required
to fill Burr’s cup of sorrow. “The last link
was broken” which bound him to life. The
uncertainty of her fate hut added to the poig
nancy of his grief. Hope, the last refuge of
the afflicted, became extinct when years had
rolled on, and yet uo tidings of tbe loved and
lost one were gleaned.
Burr lived in New Yoik until ilie year
1836, (we beheve) when lie died. The last
years of his life were passsd in comparative
obscurity. Some few old friends who had
never wholly deserted him, were Ids compan
ions ; they closed his eyes in death ami lol
lowed his body to the grave, where it will rest
till the trump of the Almighty shall call it in
to judgement.
Such is a brief sketch of ihe latter part of
the strange and eventful history of Aaron Burr.
None of the family now live —it has become
extinct—and his name but lives in the histo
ry of his countiy and in the remembrance of
those who knew him.
ANTIQUITIES OF WES'I MINSTER.
United to London as Westminster now is*
and covered with hundreds of houses, few
people imagine that this populous place was
once an Island divided from Uie main land by
the Thames, and originally denominated Tlior
ney Island, from its being entirely overgrown
with thorns and bramb.es. It was first join
ed to the main land by Matilda,Queen ol Hen
ry 1., who built a bridge over the river in King
street, at the east end of Gardener’s lane. —
The first house in Westminster according to
Stow, was Durham House, built by Thomas
Hatfield, bishop of that see. Pennant, how
ever, savs, it was originally erected by Antho
ny de Deck, in the reign of Edward I.; on
the site ol this house stands the present Adel
plii. In the time of Elizabeth there were but
lew houses, chiefly consisting of inns for the
accommodation of people who had suits in the
courts of law, and poor cottages with small
gardens. The antiquity of the Palace ot
Westminster is uncertain, but Stow mentions
that Edward the Confessor re-ided and died
in it. The ancient edifice originally formed
the east and south sides of Old Palace Yard.
Its east side contained the Court ol requests,
the Painted Chamber, the Old House oi L *rds,
the Prince’s Chamber, and many nameless old
apartments adjoining. Those on the south
cannot now be ascertained, as no remnant is
in existence. Al ter being left in a ruinous
state for years, it is said to have been inhabi
ted by Queen Elizabeth, and the inner room
in which the Court of Exchequer sits, is repor
ted to have been her bed-chamber. The
outer ro -m at the topol the steps from West
minster Hall, is said to have been used by the
Queen as a concert or breakfast room. At
iMe upper end of the hall was a marble table
or bench, 19 feet long, and three feet broad.
The Court of King’s bench having been built
over them, search was made for these relics
in the commencement of ihe present century,
but without success. The title of Court ol
King's Ilench is supposed to have been deriv
ed from this marble table. Formcily the on
ly coach road to the houses of Parliament was
in so miserable a condition, that lagots were
thrown into the ruts on the day the King went
to Parliament, to render the passage of tiie
state carriage easier. At the end of St. Mar
garet’s street, in Old Palace Yard, stood the
ancient brick buildings called Heaven and
Purgatory ; within the precincts of Purgatory,
was preserved the ducking stool, employed
by tiie Burgesses of Westminster for the pun
ishment ol scolds. ‘The angry lady was strap
ped in a chair, fastened by an iron pin to one
end of a long pole, suspended in the middle bv
a lofty trestle, which being placed near the
shore of the Thames allowed the terrified cul
prit to be immersed in the river; when the
lady’s temper was supposed to be cooled by
a few plunges, she was exposed, dripping and
humbled, to the laugh of her neighbors.—
\\ hat would our modern Xantippes think of
such a summary method of restoring peace
;.nd harmony ?
TIIE RATTLESNAKE BITE.
A FOREST ADVENTURE.
In one of my hunting excursions abroad on
a fine morning, I was accompanied by my
wife, I left my companion for a short time, in
pursuit of game, and in climbing a rugged
ledge ol rocks interspersed with shrubs and
dwarfish trees, I was startled by a quick gra
ting rattle. 1 looked forward. On the edge
of a loosened rock lay a large ll.tie Snake,
coiling himself up, as if for the deadly spring.
He was within a iew feet of me; and 1 paus
ed for an instant to survey him. I know not
why, but I stood still and looked at the dead
ly serpent with a strange feeling of curiosity.
Suddenly he unwound his coil as relenting
from his* purpose of hostility, and raising Ins
head, he tixed his bright they eyes directly
upon my own. A chilling and indescribable
sensation, totally different from any thing I
had ever before experienced, lollowed tins
movement of the serpent; hut l stood stiff and
gazed steadily and earnestly, for that moment
there was a visible change in the reptile.—
His form seemed to grow larger and his col
or brighter. His body moved with a slow,
almost imperceptible motion towards me, and
a low hum of music came from him —or at
least it sounded in my ear—a strange sweet
melody, faint as that which melts irom the
throat of the humming bird. Tnen the tint
of his body deepened and changed to a beau
tiful kaleidescope—green, purple, and gold, un
til I lost sight of the serpent enrirely, and only
saw wild, curiously woven circles of strange
colors quivering around me like an atmos
phere of rainbows. 1 seemed in the centre of
a great prism—a world of mysterious colors;
and the tints varied and darkened and lighted
up again around me, and the low sweet mu
sic went on without ceasing until my brain
reeled, and fear for the first time, came like a
shadow over me. The new sensation gained
rapidly, and I could feel the cold sweat gush
ing from my brow. 1 had no certainty of dan
ger in niv mind —all definite ideas of peril
were vague ami clouded, like the unaccounta
ble terrors of a dream—and vet my limbs
shook, and I fancied 1 could feel the blood stif
fening with cold as it passed along my veins.
I would have given worlds to have been able
to hear myself from the spot —I even attempt
ed to do, hut the body obeyed not the impulse
of tbe mind—not a muscle stirred ; and I stood
still, as if my feet had grown to the solid
rock, with the infernal anisic of the temper in
my ear, and tiie baleful coloring of his enchant
ment before me.
Suddenly anew sound came upon my ear
—it was a human voice ; but seemed strange
and awful. Again—again- but 1 stirred not;
and then a white form plunged before me, and
grasped my arm. The horrid spell was at
once broken. The strange colors passed from
before my vision. The rattlesnake was coil
ing at my feet, with glowing eyes, uplifted
fangs, and my wife clinging with terror upon
me. The next instant the serpent threw him
self upon us. My wife was the victim! The
fatal fangs pierced deeply in her hand, and
screams of agony as she staggeied backwards
from me, told me the dreadful truth.
Then it was that a feeling of madness came
upon me; and when I saw the foul serpent
stealing away from his work of death, reck
less of danger I sprang forward and crushed
him under my leet, grinding him to pieces on
the ragged rock. The groans of my wife
now recalled me to her side, and to the hor
rible reality of her situate n. There was a
dark livid spot on her hand, and it deepened
into blackness, as 1 led Iter away. We were
a considerable distance from any dwelling;—
and after wan ’ering fora short time, the pain
of tiie wound became insupportable to my
wife, and she swooned away in my arms.—
Weak and exhausted as I was, I vet had
strength enough remaining to carry her to the
nearest rivulet and bath her brow in cold wa
ter. She partially recovered and sat down
upon the bank, while I supported Iter head up
on my bosom. Hour after hour passed away,
and none came near us—and there in the
great wilderness she died.
From the North American.
The following is contained in a letter from
Charles Cassidy, Esq, of Tennessee, to a gen
tleman in Philadelphia:
A short time since, as I returned from
Sumner county. 1 called and spent a few days
with Gen. Jackson at the Hermitage, not
having seen him lor the long lapse of more
titan sixteen years. On contemplating once
more the venerable figure of the old warrior,
attenuated almost to physical debility, and
being surrounded by the old domestics and
the objects contemplated in former years, a
faithful memory, as Tom Moore somewhere
say’s “brought the light of other days around
me.”
The mind of General Jackson seems to re
tain its former vigor, promptitude and unben
ding decision of character; nor lias age, for
lie told me he was in his seventy fourth year
dimmed the clear lustre of his deep bltje eye,
or subdued the keenness of his sensibilities,
the quickness of his perceptions, or the ener
gy of his feelings. He is the same Andrew
Jackson in m n I, sentiment and enthusiasm
ofleeling that I comtemplated thirty years
ago ; the same who slept composedly upon a
blanket among his staff officers and the com
mon soldiery through the Creek Indian war;
the same man who defended New Orleans,
when even the legislative body’ of Louisiana
would have dictated a capitulation ; the man
whose decision compelled the piratical nations
of Europe tor disgorge their plunder'of our
commerce on the ocean, in the apprehension
of a species of diplomacy peculiarly his own,
and which he employed in his negotiations
with the Govenor of Florida —“the mouths of
his cannon.” In the lapse of sixteen years,
his hair has changed from a light red color, in
terspersed with white or grey, to entirely
white ; his teeth arc nearly or quite gone, and
his voice, which formerly had great depth, and
strength of tone and articulation, is much less
sharp and clear in its cadences and volume.
It surprised me considerably, that with all
t l ese bodily changes incidental to age and
great exposure to the hardships of warfare,
his mind and feelings seemed in nowise im
paired; and while contemplating this fact,
which do< • not occur with many under similar
circumstances. I drew much consolation from
the inference that tiie example before me ar
gued well for the immortality of the intellectual
powers of our race! For if the mind and
memory do not become impa'.reJ from the rav-
ages of time on the physical system, the mind
can exist without the incumbrance of the body
which we know to be liable to change of in
dentity ; at least so says our great teacher of
wisdom, philosophy.
Is it not surprising, sir, to reflect that there
are so few of our biographers of conspicuous
men who furnish their readers with a personal
description of the man whose moral and men
ial character they are affecting to delineate
through the medium of mere achievement ?
Do not these writers see every day that their
biographies pass for nnihing wherever it is
practicable to behold in person the object of
their delineations? Who for instance would
not throw down the “life of General Andrew
Jackson,” written by any man you may please
to name, to see the hero himself in person ; to
note his manners, and to hear the tones
and cadences of his voice in conversa
tion, and to mark the ease and dignity
of his gesticulation ? The majority of
biograpers have yet to learn the intelligency
and futility of all their productions; they have
yet to learn that the human face was never
the herald of a lie, and that g-aphic delinea
tion of every physical attribute of man is es
sential to the full developsment of his moral
aid mental character ;in fact, if I may so ex
press myself, that the mind of every reader ol
biography requires n physical object the hu
man body, on which to suspend the moral
and mental drapery of internal character. 1
am aware that this is new doctrine; but it is
no less true than novel, and solves at once
the enigma that the productions of mere novel
writers are always preferred to those of our
best biographers. 1 have never yet perused a
biography that had not precisely the defects
I have mentioned. All the biographies of Na
poleon in this way are deficient, and materi
ally so ; the writers did not know, or thought
it beneath them to consider that every person
al shape and attribute of nan, the face, the
hand, the foot, the voice, the action, and eve
ry thing describable in painting, sculpture,
and language, relating to human nature, are
teeming and pregnant with moral and mental
character! They leave the imagination to
wander in mazes of doubt and conjecture re
specting the appearance of the object whose
character they are attempting to delineate by
a jumble oi mere abstractions ; nor do they
ever leave a definite portrait on the tablet of
memory by which the hero of their delinea
tions may be distinguished Imm another man.
These are some of the reasons, sir, why we
rise from the persual of modern biographies
with more or less of dissatisfaction, disap
pointment and disgust. Where Shakspeare
speaks of “Warwick’s black looks,” and de
scribes him as “the proud puller down and
setter up ot kings ;” where Ossinn describes
Fingal by telling us that “the look of his blue
rolling eye was wide beneath the dark arch
of liis brow, and that the bottom of his chari
ot was the footstool of heroes,” we seem in fan
cy to see the heroes themselvas, and to have
a personal portrait of each with which to
blend and inocrporate the moral bravery and
intellectual energies of their characters. All
this, the offspring of true genius, is wanting
in the modern biographies of our own arid the
conspicuous men ofother nations.
From the Federal Union.
THE DEMOCRATIC CONVENTION.
A large portion of our columns to-day are
occupied by the proceedings of several coun
ties in relation to the Convention to he held
here in May next. The resolutions adopted
at their meetings are expressive of spirit and
feeling in support of Democratic principles;
and the movements made and making, evi
dences a zeal and confidence which warrants
the belief that there will he a larger assem
blage of the “good and true” friends and ad
vocates of Republican doctrines, than was
anticipated by many. Notices of meetings
and appointments of delegates are pouring in
upon us from every quarter. Numerous dele
gations are named already for several coun
ties. Some of the most able, eloquent and
eficient young men of the State, we notice,
are chosen ; and the prospect opens fair now
for a goodly number of such spirits being in
attendance. The deliberations of the body
will doubtless be interesting ; and the fire of
enthusiasm that will be enkindled from the
debates and counsels of the body, will, it is
beiieved, enliven the feelings and action of the
whole party. Much good, and a zeal and
elibrt, it is hoped, will be inspired, equalled
only by the devotion of the party to the prin
ciples ol Democracy, the cause of the people,
and the good of the country. The signs ol
the times auger well for a triumph in the com
ing elections. With the feeling and detemin
ation which seems to be pervading the whole
party in every section, vve entertain great
hopes for the successful accomplishment of the
ascendancy of the Democratic party in the
Slate. Much is (o be done and expected
from ihe general representation to be bad in
the Convention, and from its action in refer
ence to the important measures to be discussed
and adopted.
Several distinguished gentleman of the par
ty have been invited to attend the Convention,
and will probably address (lie body during its
session. Among the number, we learn, that
the Hon. John Forsyth has, in a letter to the
Chairman of the Executive Committee, prom
ised to be here at that time.
AtteMpt to Murder. —The Mobile Reg
ister of the 29tb, ult. says* “On Saturday
night about 9 o’clock, Mr. W. H. Hull of the
firm of L. Hull &. Son of this city, while ri
ding on the Spring Hiil road three and a half
miles from the city, was fired at by a man on
the roadside. The assassin fired at the dis
tance ol ten or twelve paces, just as he was
opposite to him, and the hall struck the bri
dle arm, midway between the shoulder and
elbow, and glanced across his breast in front.
The position of the arm in holding the bridle,
alone, providentially saved h.s life, for if the
arm had been down in its natural position,
the shot would have entered the body in its
most vital part. The night was dark, and
Mr. H. saw the figure of the man and the
fLsh of the pistol, and being unarmed, expec
ting another fire, and apprehending from the
concussion, that he was badly hurt, he fled to
the next house.
Whether the assasin was instignated by
malice, or an intent to commit highway rob
bery, cannot even be guessed at, if the first be
the cause, and if plunder were the object, the
viilian would have committed unrequited
murder.
Not to be taken in. — A Hoosier at the
American Theatre, on Saturday night, said
that the six characters of Mrs. Fitzwilliam, in
the play of V iddovv W iggins, were represen
ted by six distinct and bona jlde actors, and
that he did’nt come a!: the way from Illinois
to he humbugged by such shallow invention
as that bill of the performance—not
saw through the whole of it. —N. O.N.
Amer.
Politeness on axe Occasions. —At a wed
ding recently, which took place at the .altar,
when the officialing priest put to the lady the
home question, “Wilt thou take this man to
be.thy wedded husband?” she dropped the
prettiest curtesy, and with a modesty which
lent her beauty an additional grace, replied
‘lf you please, sir. ’ Claiming simplicity.
VOL. I. NO. 11.
From the New World.
JOHN TYLER, PRESIDENT OF THE
UNITED STATES.
John I yler, who, by a dispensation of Pro
vidence. has become the legitimate President
ofthe United States, is a native of that same
county of Hanover in Virginia, which gave
birth to our late lamented Chief Magistrate.
In his political faith and attachment he is a
democrat of ttie Jeffersonian school, and was
one of the roost efficient supporters of the last
war i;i the lower House of Congress. He has
long been the friend of Henry Clay, anil was,
at the Harrisburg Convention, one ofthe last
who consented to the substitution of another
candidate for the Presidency.
In the Senate of the United Sfates, Mr.
Tyler maintained a steady opposition to the
measures of the late administration, until, in
conformity with the Virginia doctrine of in
struction, he resigned his seat. He has, how
ever, in his recorded speeches, expressed him
self opposed to the rechartering of a United
States Rank, although it is believed that his
opinions have undergone some modification
upon this subject within the lasl two or three
years. Certain it is, he is decidedly opposed
to the Sub-Treasury scheme, and to the exer
cise of the veto power by the President.
From his personal appearance w£ should
judge that Mr. Tyler was about fifty years of
age. He is tall and slim in his figure, and
stiongly reminds one of the published likeness
of Patrick Henry. His hair is still unsilvered,
and his countenance is indicative of n.aniy
Irankness, courtesy, and amiability of temper.
His manners are courtly and cordial, and his
style of reception singularly gracious and pre
possessing. In his demeanor as Vice Presi
dent lie lias been remarkably modest and un
obtrusive, indicating no disposition to interfere
in the distribution of offices, or to bias the
judgment of the Executive and his cabinet.—
Indeed, he has been almost wholly overlooked
by the managing politicians and leaders at
Washington, inasmuch as his position, apart
from the unlooked- r or contingency which lias
now called him to the While House, was one
of little more influence than that of an ordina
ry Senator. Certain people will undoubtedly
now be very active m attempts to make up
for their past inattention.
Mr. Tyler is a fluent and graceful speaker,
although in personal intercourse he is by no
means inclined to be garrulous. He is un
questionably a man of sterling abilities and
good sense, and will not be blinded and mould
ed by any man or set of men. He is in the
full vigor of all his faculties, and in the prime
of life, without, even the sense of sight impaired..
We believe he will make a good, patrolie and
wise President.
Already some moanings have been raised
by certain cliques of politicians among us, be
cause of the fact that Mr. Tyler is from the
South of the Potomac. With such malcon
tents we have few sympathies. We want
neither a Northern policy nor a Southern
policy pursued in the conduct of our national
affairs, but an American policy, not limited by
State lines, but covering the whole Union in
its capacious embrace, and still abiding al
ways rigidly within the bounds of the Federal
Constitution. Such will, we believe, be the
policy of John Tyler; and to such will the
majority of the people of the United States
give their united and unfailing support.
Ii cannot be denied that Mr. Webster, by
his superior knowledge of public affairs, his
aptitude, experience and vast ability, and the
energy of his stronger will, was fast gaining
an ascendency in the direction of things at
Washington, which was almost irresistible.—
He was virtually the premier of ihe adminis
tration, and bad Gen. Harrison survived, his
influence would probably have been para
mount. The tables are now reversed. Mr.
Clay and his friends come in for a share of
influence—greater, no doubt, than the Web
ster party can ever hope to exercise. It is our
own persuasion that Mr. Webster will resign
his seat in the Cabinet, and accept of the mis
sion to England. The present aspect of our
relations with Great Britain seems to call
loudly for such an embassy, and we should
rejoice to see our country represented abroad
by a man so truly and eminently great as
Daniel Webster.
Stealing cn Credit. —A farmer in this
State was once greatly puzzled by the sudden
disappearance of his sheep. One after an
other was missing from the flock, without any
solution of the mystery—until at last, his sus
picions rested on one of his neighbors. Ac
cordingly, as the sheep disappeared, each one
was entered on the book against the suspected
man, and the price carried out. At the end of
the year, the hill was sent to him—and with
out making any words on the subject, he pru
dently paid it. Another year passed, and the
absence of a greater number of sl*ep had
added numerous items to anew bill, which
was presented, as on the previous. This time,
however, the lover of mutton demurred—and
insisted on its being reduced; protesting that
he had not taken an eighth part of the num
ber charged to him. But the creditor insisted
upon every farthing. “ Well,” said sheepy,
“if I must pay, I suppose I must; but the
fact is. some scamp has been stealing on my
credit.” —New Haven Register.
A Confession. —A young convert in the
country got up and was making a confession
somewhat after this sort, viz: “I have been
very wicked, indeed I have ; I have cheated
many persons, very many ; but I -will restore
four-foldwhen lie was interrupted by an
old lady thus: “ Well, I should think before
you confess much, you’d better marry Nancy
Slebbins, as you agreed to!”
Hope. —At sixteen, what sorrow can freeze
the hope, or what prophetic fear whisper “fool”
to the ambition 1 He would bear back into
care and prosperity, if not into affluence and
station, the dear ones left at home. From the
eminence of five shillings a week he looked
over the Promised Land.
A singui.as CASE.—The Pittsburgh Ameri
can of the ad instant, states that a man in
Lewistown was supposed to have died from
over-eating and drinking, and from some awk
wardness in putting him in the coffin, which
had been procured, he was suffered to fall on
the floor. The shock had the effect to knock
hfe again into him, for he immediately rose to
inquire what they were about. lie refused to
pay the funeral expenses, and the coffin maker
and others have brought suit against him for
their bills. This will be anew case, hardly
to be found in the books.
Privileges or Ladies in Leap Yeap..— ln
an ancient Anglo-Saxon law, which still re
mains in force, it is enacted :
“Albeit as often as Lcape Ycare doatbe oc-
Citrre, the woman holdctli the perogative over
the nieiine, in matter of courtsliippe, love, and
mairimonie; sue that when the ladie propo
seth, it shall not he lawful for rnenijo to say
nae, but shall receive her proposal in all good
courtcsie.”
A Pun.—A gentleman by the name of
T<m-te, says the Portsmouth Journal, was fre
quetuiy-praising an interesting young lady by
calling ser a Belle, &c. A facet.ons lemaie
friend observed to him that be had been t in° -
i'lg "that belle long < uougti, and tube frank,
-he w ?uid advtoC him now to make her a
J’outle.