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BY JAMES W. JO AES. The Southern Whig, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fiist number, or fur dollars if not paid within the year, bub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, unless the money is paid in ad rance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear nges are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. AU Letters to the. Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, must be post paid in orderto secure attention. Notice of the sale ofLand and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, qr Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters jo administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, six months. PROSPECTI'S OF THE THI ’. paper formerly edited by Wm. E. Jones, is now under the direction of the undersigned. The growingimportance of Ath ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the agitation of certain questions having a direct influence on southern interests: render it ueces- | sary that the northwestern part of Georgia should have some vigilant, faithful sentinel plways on the watch tower, devoted to a strict construction ofthe true spirit ofthe constitution, the maintainance of he rights and sovereignty of the States, the retrenchment of executive patronage, reform, and a strict accountability of all public officers; moderate, yet firm aud decided in his censures, “nothing extenuate or setdown ought in malice,” —to expose prompt iv abuses and corruption when and whereevr discovered—such an undersigned pro poses the 5 gge—and he respectfully asks the frf ,S ’..s of constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob tain subscribers. The Southern Whig is published weekly in Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty cents if not paid within six months, or Four if not paid until the end of the year. J. W. J ONES. Athens, Aug. 8,183 G. THE INDIAN’S PANACEA, FOR the cure of Rheumatism, Scrofula or King's Evil, Gout, Sciatica or //ip Gout, Incipient Cancers, Salt Rheum, Siphilitic and mercurial diseases, particularly Ulcers am. painful affections oi the bones, Ulcerated 1 hroat and Nostrils, Ulcers of every description, b ever Sores, and Internal Abscesses, Fistulas, Pdes, Scald Head, Scurvy, Biles, Chrome Sore Ey es, Erysipelas, Blotches, and every variety ot Cu taneous Affection; Chronic Catarrh, Headache, proceeding from an aprid humor; Pain in the Stomach and Dyspepsia proceeding from Vitia tion; Affections of the Liver; Chronic Intlama tion of thp Kidneys, and general debility caused by a torpid action of the. vessels oi the skin. It is singularly efficacious in renovating those con stitutions which have been broken down by in judicious treatment, or juvenile irregularities. In general terms, it is recommended in all those diseases which arise from impurities oi' the j blood, Os vitiation of the humors, of whatever name or kind. Some of the above complaints may require some trifling assistant applications, which the circumstances ot the case will dictate; but tor a general remedy or purijicator, to remove the cause, The Indian’s Panacea will generally be found sufficient. Fop sale by REESE & I-ORD. ; May 14 2 tf ' I NOTICE. AS the Government of the United States, has entrusted to my care, the superintending of that branch of business, connected with the valuation of Cherokee Improvements; and be ing anxious to do ample justice to the parties ■ concerned: —and having been informed that at tempts will be made by some individuals, to j practice fraud upon the appraising agents, by I having the labor of white men presented for val uation, as Indian improvements, I would res- 1 pectfully ask the favor of such persons as may have information of frauds, ot whatever char acter, intended to be practised upon the Agents of the Government, to give the earliest notice thereof, in writing, over their proper signatures, either to the Appraising Agents for that section of country in which said frauds may be design ed, or to the undersigned at the Cherokee Agen cy Post Office, Calhoun, East Tennessee. J BEN. F. CURRY. Superintendant Cherokee Removals P. S. All Proprietors of Presses within the Cherokee country, as well as those near the border thereof, are requested to give the above notice three insertions, and forward their ac counts for settlement. Nov. 19,—29—3t WANTED. A Respectable Gentleman who can come well recommended as a Teacher of good moral character, to take charge of Philomathia Acade my in Ruckersville. The School to commence by the 10th of January, 1837*. By order of the Botird, ” J. A. CLARK, Sec’y. Oct. 8, —23—tlJan. FOUR mouths after date application will be made to the Honorable the Inferior Court pf Clark county, when sitting for ordinary pur poses, for leave to sell all the Lands belonging to the Estate of the Orphans of Henry llouze dec’d., for the benefit of the Orphans of said deceased. DARIAS T. HQUZE, Guar. Sept. 10, ‘ I!) Im O' v a ¥ 1 A From the Knickerbocker. THE TIESJJF EARTH. When the young heart expanding flings Round kindred hearts its warm embrace, But chief to one fair image clings, Throned on its secret idol-place; Then’t is not strange that life we prize. We see not through the mist of years; Hope’s sunbeams dancing in our eyes, What should we know of tears? But why—ah! why—when left alone, To climb, uncheered, Time’s rugged biff- Love’s idol broken on its throne, Which nothing left on earth can fill When, one by one, the gems of life Have all been shivered in our grasp, Why should we hug the boon of strife, With nothing else to clasp’ Yet oft’t is so—as nearer tends Dust to the dust it long hath trod, The spirit Heaven to light it lends, Cleaves trembling to the sordid clod; Cleaves to the world—the empty world— And fears to cross the untried sea, Beyond whose waves, with pinions furled, All whom it loved are free! But not so I: when the dear band Whpse hearts, whose thoughts, are linked io Shall leave me—pilgrim of a land [mine, That hath for me no worshipped shrine— Oh! let them leave the gates of death Unbarred behind them as they fly! Why should I wish to breathe, when breath VV ould be an endless sigh? But rather—old far happier fate— Be mine—be mine the earlier call To pass that dim mysterious gate That must at last roll back on all: With Love to hold my dying brow, With friends around to plead and pray. With hands to press—all true as now— Thus let me fade away! I would not see one lovely form Writhing beneath Death’s lifted arm— Convulsed by that dark, awful storm That heralds the eternal calm— To live a prince—a king—a god! On any realm earth’s waters lave: Rather for both, thou soft green sod, Yield but a single grave! And then, methinks, our very dust Would not like other ashes be. But, with a sweet and solemn trust, Mix as it mouldered, lovingly: The while our souls, one essence too, Should roam through space on equal wing, And ever, ever as we flew, glad anthem sing! — '■ ~ - ’c/.rr. FRO.M AN UNPUBLISHED NOVEL, BY THE AUTHOR CF ‘THE SOUTH-WEST.’ A3l iulcrview bciwern a Father and his Son-»Uatastrophe~Kemorse. ‘ The love or hatred of brothers and sisters is more intense than the love or hatred existing be tween any other persons of the same sexes.— Probably nothing.so frequently causes divisions between those whom nature has blessed with the holy relationship of brother and sister, per haps that it may be the depository of pure affec tion, as an unequal distribution of the affection of parents.’ H. More. ‘ Achille !’ The young aspirant started from the 1 contemplation of scenes of triumph and ! empire, carnage and blood—the last too j soon to be realized —and beheld his father ■ standing by his side, who had entered lhe I library, and approached him unperceived. ■ Seating himself in the recess of the win- j dow, he motioned his son to a chair, plac- j ed opposite to his own. The hearing of the veteran exile was at all times in the highest degree dignified and imposing.— His was the brow, eye, and presence to command respect and receive homage. The affection of Achille toward his fa- I ther was not unmingled with sentiments j of fear. But he Was the only being be- j fore whom the proud eye of the boy quailed. That, his father loved him, he had never doubted. He knew that he was proud of him, ‘ his nob'e, fearless boy,’ as he would term him, while parting his dark clustering ' locks from his handsome forehead, after i he had performed some daring feat of boy , hood. But when he spoke to Henri, the j gratified and proud expression of his eyes I I softened under the influence of a milder ; feeling, and his smile would fade into a sweet but melancholy expression; por would Achille have exchanged his inspir ! ing language to him, ‘ his darling boy 1’ for ■ the kind tone, and manner he involunta j rily assumed when he would say. ‘Henri, j my beloved child, come and amuse me ' with your prattle I’—nor would the tear- j fid eve, as he gazed down into the upturn ed face of the amiable boy, have pleased his wild spirit like the enkindling glance of that admiring eye, when turned upon him in paternal pride. Achille translated his glance of pride into an expression of love, and sympathized with one so evidently regarded withan air of sorrow, if not as his brother. If he gave the s;i’> , ; moment’s reflectjag^^i^*^* l ■ tering favorite SQtjWW-'r fidbJF.'*’. “Trir ! ' i loved hiiA ' ■ -I’m which he hudV - t ■ /-<>n «'"«»■ pas ui\ .’A- .. ;' /e of ins broth er, hoi 7 *■'•?£» expression of the ffufection. In his of his ail his afiec’ion ; fi>r her. xy hand of death had i withered in its beauty and bloom, was re- ■ newed in his beloved Henri. He was | doubly loved—for his mother and for him- I self—and there remained for Achille, so the sensitive and high spirited boy learned that day, no place in the affections of his sole surviving parent. •WHERE POWERS AKE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE At'l IS HIE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. Jefei SOU. 1 His father being seated, addressed him: : ‘Achille, you are now of an age to en |ter the university, for admission to which the nature and extent of your studies em inently qualify you. In a few days the annual examination of candidates will take place, and in the interval you can select and arrange a library for your room, and collect what other conveniences you may require. You will leave in the first packet that passes down the river.’ This was a delightful announcement to the subject of it, and not. wholly unexpect ed. To tb.e university, that world in min iature, he had long looked forward with pleasurable anticipations, it was a field pf action, at least, and he panted to enter upon it. The two brothers had both prepared for admission into the same class, and he in | quired if Henri was to accompany him. I ‘He is not,’ replied the father, coldly and firmly. ‘ He is certainly prepared, Sir I’ ‘Undoubtedly ! But I have decided that he is to be my companion to Europe this season, as I fear his delicate constitution will not admit of his confining himself at present to sedentary pursuits.’ ‘I was anticipating that happiness for I invself,’ replied Achille, chagrined at his j father’s preference for his brother, so un expectedly manifested, not only by the words he uttered, but by his tone and manner. He had long known his intention to visit his native land, and expected to ac company him, although his expectations were founded rather on his own wishes, j than any encouragement he had received from his parent. Now that he learned his intention of tak ing Henri, instead of himself, he felt keen ly the preference; and the coldness, if not severity, of manner he assumed in commu nicating his determination, offended his pride, whilst his decided partiality for his brother wounded his self-love. The old soldier was a man of few words, and his . son was well aware, that, his resolution once formed, he was unbending. He knew that his brother was to go, and that he was to remain; and with a bitter and wounded spirit he turned his darkening brow from the penetrating gaze of his fa ther, and looked forth upon the beautiful scene which lay out-spread beneath the windows of the library. A closing door roused him from his gloo my and sinful reverie, and turning, he found himself once more alone! No—not quite alone! An evil spirit—Jealousy I pregnant with dark thoughts and evil imaginings, was his companion. A long hour passed away, during which his first fierce conflict with his hitherto slumbering passions took ■ place. The first suspicion that his brother was best loved, then entered his thoughts. Once admitted, it undermined by its subtle the better feelings of his heart. ; Doubts were strengthened to confirma-1 tions, suspicions magnified to certainties. > in the rapid and prejudiced retrospect he j took of his father’s bearing towards his | brother and himself, from the earliest pe riod of his recollection. But an hour—one short, but momentous j hour—for then was fixed the lever which j moved the world of passions within him, I withall their evil consequences—had ex- \ pired, and the canker-worm of hatred, with ■ its venomous fangs, was gnawing at the > last slender fibre that bound him to his ' brother, when the hall door was thrown ! open, and the unsuspecting and i subject of his dark a gemmed locket.' ' ■ "' f ‘ See. brother. loud and delighted t>-ucler~ee dear father has presented me as a birth’ day’s gif 1’ Achille raised his eyes and fixed them i full upon the sparkling locket which en-- closed the miniature of an exceedingly ; beautiful female, with a form, cheek, and eye, radiant with feminine loveliness. He recognised the portrait of their mo-I ther, which till that moment had ever been worn, as the holy pilgrim wears the sacred cross, next to the heart of his father. So dearly treasured had that sacred memento of his departed wife ever been, that he never was permitted to remove it from the mourning ribbon by which it was depen dent from his neck. Now, he saw the cherished relic in the possession of Ins brother, a gift from him. His lip curled, and his dark eye became darker still at this stronger confirmation of his father’s par tiality, yet he neither spoke nor betrayed his feelings by any visible emotion: but the fires within his breast raged deeper still. Like pent-up flames. his passions gained vigour by the very efforts made to smother them. For the first time in his life he looked upon Henri coldly, and without a smile of tenderness. He felt indeed, although his lips moved pot with the biting words that rose to them, that the poison of his heart must have been communicated to his eyes; for. as his brother caught their unwonted expression, he suddenly checked himself, and the gay tones of his voice sunk sub dued to a strange whisper, as he faintly in clin'd. at the same time placing his deli- upon his shoulder, ‘if he wore ill?’ -replied, with an involuntary Ah.it startled even himself. - ’joment he would have given jail that, fatal monosyllable, z it over again, more gently: jj§i|igjpTOstoolate. The sensitive boy re coiled as though he had encountered the eye of a basilisk; his forehead changed to a deadly hue, the blood fled from his cheeks, and he seemed about to sink upon the floor; but, suddenly recovering him -1 self, he laughed, and the rich bipod came 1 back again, and his eye glanced brightly i as he exclaimed, but half-assured : ‘ Brother you did but try to frighten me—you were not, in earnest, angry with I me ?’ His heart, melted for a moment at this ; affecti mate appeal, but with a st; angc pcr ; versencss lie steeled it to insensibility, j ‘ Leave me to myself.’ he roughly re plied, ‘I am not in the humour to be tri i fled with.' ATHEYS. &EOR<iH?A, SATURDAY, AOV’EJIBER 1 536. Mysterious inconsistency of will and ac tion I He would have given his right hand, or plucked out his right eye, to have re called the first angry word he uttered. In his own mind he did not will to speak j thus harshly; yet, by a singular but fre ; quent anomaly, his words and manner / were directly in opposition to his will.— ■ The first word spoken in an angry mood, j hewed out a broad pathway for legions. As he uttered his last words, the tears i gushed into Henri’s eyes, and yielding to the influence of affection, he sprang for ward and th.rew himself into his elder and beloved brother’s arms, wept aloud, and sobbed o;it amidst his tears, ‘ Brother 1 Achille I wherein has Henri offended you ?' An evil spirit now seemed indeed to | hswe taken possession of him. With an ' grv violence he thrust Henri from his em ; brace, while a curse sprang to his lips. . The poor youth and reeled, fell ; forward, striking his forehead, as he fell. I violently against a marble pedestal upon i which stood an alabaster statue of the j Madonna, and the warm blood spouted j from his gashed temples over the cold, j white robes of the image. 1 It was a spectacle of horror ! —and the ! guilty being gazed wildly upon his pros- Itrate brother, and thought of Abel and his murderer; upon the red-sprinkled image, and laughed. ‘Ha! ha! ha!’ as maniacs laugh, at. the fitness of his first offering—a mangled brother—at the shrine of the vir gin mother. The momentary but terrific spell upon [ ! his reason passed awaw, and throwing , himself upon the senseless boy, he attempt- , ed to stop the ebbing current of life as i’ i trickled in a small red stream down his 1 pale firehead, steeping his auburn curls in i gore, at the same time, calling loudly and madly for assistance. His father, followed by the servants, rushed into the library. ‘ Help Sir, my brother is dying!’ he cried wildly. The old man sprang forward and caught his bleeding child in his arms. His prac tised eve at once comprehended the ex tent of the injury be had sustained. He had received a deep cut in the shape of a crescent over the left eye brow, yet nd | severe enough to endanger life. The free ; flow ofthe blood soon restored him to his senses, and opening his eyes, as his father, I with a tender hand, staunched the bub- ! bling blood, he fixed them upon his brother I with an expression that eloquently spoke forgiveness. ‘ God pity me !’ exclaimed the repentant and now broken-spirited boy; for that look , went to his heart; and burying his face in i his hands, he precipitately left the room, | The long and bitter hours of grief, re- ' moise and shame, he suffered in the soli- 1 tude of his own room, no tongue But his who has felt like him, can utter. He ex perienced sentiments of haired for him self. a loathing and detestation that tempt ed him to put a period at once to his own existence. W hen he recalled the reprov- ■ ing yet forgiving look of his suffering and , magnanimous brother, he felt degraded in I his own eyes, fallen, lowly fallen, in his ; own self-esteem. That he must be in his ' brother's he was painfully aware, pnd for 1 the first time he felt that the gentlc-natured I Henri was his superior. TEie true use of Kielies. BY M. JI. NOAH. Star ever an.’ anon strikes ■ ,|! ’ rs soi'C'lv. ■ ■' •. (be world and its usa- We always make a point to reproduce I mese scenes of real life in the columns of the I Mir: •or, as they are pervaded by a spirit of • mild humor and cordiality toward the writer’s I fellow.men, and their observance would have I a useful effect upon morals a d maimers. Th i subjoined is as pertinent and applicable as any of the Horatian satires and epistles on the sub ject:—A. Y. Mirror. “Why am 1 not a rich man?’ Said a very intelligent person to us, white looking at a splendid equipage which rattled down Broad way. It was the equipage ofa man of wealth —a man of yesterday: a parvenu, in the mon fashionable phrase, who made a fortune sud | dealy by having farms and selling them out in i lots, and who was determined, bv the spier dor j of his house, the magnificence of his entertain ! rnents, and richness and variety of his liveries, j his loyd talk, and co isequential air, to show | that he did not. belong to the quiet families of I some hundred vears of distinction and wealth, j who never offend bv ostentation, nor exhibit a heraldry to wlpch they are not entitl 'd. We gazed at several of similar growth—the i riches which sprung up over uigfit like Jonah’s 1 j gourd; some by speculation, others by succes- j I sion; some by fortunate marriages, and some ; more creditably by mechanical labor and in- ' genuity. ‘W hy am I not a rich man?' said my friend. ‘1 must, purchase some where i > the West—qri the moo i— o mailer where; ■ I must, plunge in the current of speculation, and 1 swim on to fortune a d eminence, i must bo I rich; every body trios to b ■ rich, why shall I I ot bo rich? lam liberal in my disposition. I hospitable and free. I should like to have such I a coach and pair—a house of corresponding i magnificence. I should like to throw it open | several times year.y, f,,r the gay and fasliiona i ble thr.pog; i should like you to dice twice a i week wilh nie.and pmnsii a few hot th s of old j very old Maderia. Vlhv am I not rich? I . deserve to be rich: 1 must be rich.’ said he. i musing, and at intervals dropping his voice, | as he sloy, ly withdrew his eves from the lo g cavalcade of qoaches and phaetons, and whisk eicd footmen. “Hundreds, no doubt, thought as he did; 1 hundreds expressed the same feelings, and felt the same desires, and all unfler the delusion th it money is wealth—that sheer, palpable’ a’d silv r constitutes riches; and it is un der this-lidusion that thousands of our citizens ■ rer.icki their bra is bv ; ight, their thoughts bv day. toiling and sweating and managing, and.twisti g, a. d turni g out of the comma ", settled and regular order of things, to get gold and silver, under the impression that «ph their I possessions they will bo rich. S alesmen, i politicians, any, tbe Government itself, is inqcu | luted with th ■ same ma in. and ff a H suc i ceed. we shall be compelled to blacken our I own boots, and wait upon ourselves at table, r i'he delusion, iipv. w r. consists in this—iii considering a piece of gold the only represen tative of wealth, and disregard! g what weii ourselves possess, which is an equivolent to wealth. We are for the most part rich, with '>utt xact.lv knowing it. Ihe anvil ot the blacksmith is to him, with his handicraft, a valuable, mighty lump of gold; he lives by it, and to his mind, habits, at d wishes, as well as. he lives who pays out his eagles and half-ea gles in the market- So with the painter—so with the professional man, the scuiptor, the mu sician, the man of talent; «11 who possess the means of acquiring wealth are actually weal thy; for. if temperate and industrious, all their faculties are convertible materials into wealth; nav, are more valuable, and durable, and avail able, than the mere man of gold and silver. Let such a man swim to the shore from, his shipwrecked vessel, with the mechanic and I lhe man o‘ mind, and see who can succeed in | earning that morsel of bread necessary to sus- I tain life. What does the man of princely in j come do, which gives to him so many suppos ed advantages, and opens to so much mooted, h i ppi- ess? He rises Lite; tnr s day into night, dawdles his time awav in triflingfi liki 1 employ, meats; drives his horses,and dugs; gives grand j dinners for ostentation, and large parties for fashion; and is at best a poor, discontented. Ivspepffc patrician, respected o ily for his gold and silver, and of no possible use to the commu nity. “Take the man of moderate means x and he employs life as life ought to be employed; a mixture if employment and recreation, of ra tionai pleasure and discreet hospitality; go down to vvhat is called the poorer classes, but which we call the substantially rich—th ■ har dv mechanic, and see haw he enjoys life. Risi >g with lhe sun, his labor docs not cease until the gun sinks inff> the West. He returns to his little familv, and s mg tenement at night, and fi ids an ample board spread bv a frysal j wife: the sm ki g steak, ‘he good cup of coffee, j the white bread and butter, and an appetite 1 -hnrpened by labor. His repast over, he takes J Ins chubby boy upon his k ee, pinches his dirty, rosy cheeks, and runs his s'gers through his nri itted Irair, talks wiih his wife on house, hold affairs; reads the paper, or converses with his neighbor on the b’st means of s ivi ig th commo iweallh: and when the hour of rest ar rives, he stretches himself on his hard but h T’.lthy bed, and soon his senses are steeped i ito, forgetful less, and Lis sleep is sweet and sound, until the «hrill clarion ofthe cock awn. kens him on the morrow to renewed labor. But then he has no coach. Has he ot? He h s oidy to go into th" street a id holj up his lii £er, a m a splendid omnibus and four elega I horses drives up to thosidew ilk, and he jumps in: it is his coach while he occupies it. and h leaves it when and where he pleases. Can the man of gold and silver do more? It is all an error, a m sconception, a delusion. We ire all rich when we possess withi 1 ourselves the means of acquiring wealth. We have no poor, excepting the idler and the drunkard.” From the Evening Star. LIFF. I “If dead we cease to be—if total gloom Swallow up life’s brief flesh fo,r aye—we f re As summer gusts of suppen birth and doom, Whose sound and motion, not alone declare But are their whole being!” Coleridge. ■ Cold—stern—and sad’ning is that cheerless creed Which yields to man no tribute but decay, 1 And teaches us, that when the soul is freed From all the ties which bind it to the clay, i It has no brighter home to which to speed i But. passes with our latest breath away, Like waves on ocean’s breast—like lightning’s gleam— ; Like childhood’s hopes—like day’s receding ! beam. Is death the end ofall?Do “thoughts the breathe, ' And words that burn,”like summer clouds depart? Do feelings pure and bright such as we wreathe In glorious garlands’ round the spotless heart. ■ No boon to cold eternity bequeath? | Arc they of dying things a fading part? ; Say is the soul decreed an end to share, | E’en hke a breath in the unconscious air? i Why does the mind long for a home of day-, Or why conceive a state of purest bliss, j Why’ on the wings of witching fancy stray To worlds all distant—different from this; ' Iftfierebe naught at least but stern decay, | And man’s sole end—“the sum of all” but is I Toprove himself in attributes, a God, j And next to fall—a senseless, mould’ing clod? i i There is another world? Look out at night > When all is silent round—and mild, and calm, Gaze on the distant orbs whose silver light It all so fraught with loveliness and balm, j And while thou watch’st those living diamonds bright, Thau should’st retain no doubt—no fear—no qualm i That he who holds the stars in spheres on high i Gave man a soul too boundless al! to die. J. T. B. Scene at. a fashionable party. While Mr. Forsyth was at the Court of .’fl, i. ! drid, his reputation as a gallant man stood as j high i i that natio.i!, as it had previously, a <1 ’ ha-- since, stood at home. He was ambitious i ofi he homirs of a Qrat/izhonZ, and would scarce !ly have disdained the fame of a Rochester. ' At one ofthe splendid parties given i i Mad id, Mr. Forsyth had just waltzed with a lady, who I was co sidered the most distinguished ofthe ' Court for h r beauty and accompjishi.ie ts. At the close ofthe movement Mr. Forsyth handed the lady to ;i seat on a sofa, and seated himself by h r side. She accosted him in Suamsh. Mr. Forsy h shrugged up his shoul s d rs, blushed, bowed, and contrived very sue ' ci <-t.ly to make the lady u iderst m.d that he , k :ew nothi g <>f Spa ish. She expressed j s un -surprise, but recover! ig herself, politelv ..ddressed him in French—“ Fntendez vousV'' The shoulders of the minister were shrugged I again, the dye in h;s cheek was ruddier, and the raisi ig ot his ha ds and eye-broiys showed he was again at. fault. The lady almost dis <'oiicerl.' d, tried him in a third language. h ■ understand Italian?” i It was all in vain. lhe mi lister, thr.uggh | some ki id medium, replied that he knew none jof the languages. The philosophy andpohle | nessofthe fair quest io ier vanished together, i and bursli g into an immoderate fit of laugh- I te , which infected the whole circle, sheejac i ulated in R er own to,l S u '’‘Understand nu t language! Heavens! The U fled States has ■ sent us a mute for a minister!” j'he laugh be -1 cam-. :-o annoying, that Mr. horsy th unable tu j endure it, rose and left lhe room. It was I long, however, b -fore the circumstance was 1 forgotten. I believe, however, th.it Mr. F' r ' syth speaks both Spanish and French si.ic : that day.— Newark Daily Advertiser. i From the Baltimore Transcript. Anecdote of Gen. Putnam. Among the worthies who figured during the , era of the American Revolution, perhaps th'-r was none possessing more originality of char acter than Gen. Putnam, who was eccentric and fearless, blunt in his manners—the daring soldier, without the polish of the gentleman. He might well be called the Marion of the North. 1 hough he disliked disguise, prob iblv from the fact of his lisping, which, was very apt to overthrow any trickery he might hav in view. The following anecdote was related'tp us by an elderly gentleman, who received it from, the mouth of his father, who served under lb I General: At the fene a strong hold called | Horseneck, some miles above N w-York. was J in possession of the British, Putnam, with a I few sturdy patriots, was iurki g i 1 its vici ity, ; bent on drivi ig them from the place. Tired of lying in ambush, the me 1 became impatient, and importuned the General with questio is as to when they were going to have a bout with the foe. One tnor ling he made a sp-ech som thing to the followi ig effect, which co.i. viuced them that som thing was in the wind: “Fellers—You have been idle too Io ig, aud so have. I—l’m going down to Bush’s, at Horseneck, in an hour, with a 1 ox team a id a load of corn- If I come back. I’ll I t you k iow all the particulars; if I should not, 1s t ’em have it, by tile hokey!” He shortly afterwards mounted his ox-cart, dressed as one ofthe commonest order of Ya 1- kee farmers, and was soon at. Bush’s tavern, which was in possession of the British troops. No sooner did the officers espy him tha 1 the\ began to question him respecting his where abouts—and fi idiug him, ns thev thought, a complete simpleton, they begun to quiz him, and threatened to seize his corn and fodder. “How much do you ask for your whole con-. sarn?” they inquired. “For marey sake, gentlemen,'’ replied the mock-clodhopper, with the most deplorable look of entreaty, “only let me off, and von sh II have my hull team and load for nothing! and if that won’t dew, I’ll give you my word I’ll return to-morrow and pay you heartily for your kindness and condescension.” “Well,” said they, “we’ll take you al your j word; leave the team and provender with us, I and we won’t require any bail for vour ap-1 pen rance.” Putnam gave up the team, and sauntered , ..bout for an hour or so, gaining all the infor mation that he wished; he then returned to his . men, and told them of the disposition of the , foe and his plan of attack. The morning came, and with it sallied out . the gaffant band. The British were handled I - with rough bauds, and when tney surrendered j < to Gen. Putnam, the clodhopper, he sarcasti j ( caily remarked-—“Genth me , I haye only k pt ( my word. I toldyoul would call and pay you j , foryoi r kindness a id condescension.” j | From the Saturday Courier. ronjj Estimate of ’lie We think there is one radical error in Ame rica.! Society, viz: a universal disposition to i iderate the mechanical professions, when contrasted wjth what are termed the “learned iroiessio s,” and with almost all the other vocations. D >es the rich and respectable mechanic— tfie artizan —the architect—he who rears our public and private edifices—the builder of ou r ‘ ships, and the constructor of our canals a id i railways—never permit a course of co duct ■ i i himself, which goes directly to take away , trom the respectability of the profession b. j which he Ras gained all he possesses! When | he comes to decide upon the path his sous ’ -tiall pursue—is it not too’often the case that in overweening disposition is displayed to " n ike them lawyers, doctors, ministers, rner- ■ ctpuits —any thing but to brmgthem up at th - calli ig of their parent? And let us ask, is not the same thing true ! of every ether class in the communitv! The sons of Atn -rica'i citizens must be edu | cated for eentlemen. They must not learn a I a trade, ar an art, upon which they can al ways depend for a respectable living. This would b - to lower rather than raise them in the scale of public opinion—and hence it is, that thousands a d thousands, of bovs are crowded into “t/ie professions, ,, and '‘behind couriers"— to become in the end, genteel paup rs, livi g up<»n the products of other men’s labors, ra ther than relyi >g upon their own ha.idq for an honest living. We repeat, it is the wrong estimate of the I comparative respectability of the difieret t pursuits, that causes so dangerous an error. We would not stifle genius nor deride learn ing—nor do we entertain the least disrespect i to any profession—but we would have wur ' so'-s t iught to believe, and made to feel, that it i is far more h onorable to learn some ha di. I craft, by lhe practice of which they can hv in i -dope dece and honor—than to be crow led into the always overflowing ra ks if“p -o fessio is,” which will not yield their bread— and which but too often lead to lhe entire ' prostration of the better feelings oi the hum n heart, in low cunning, duplicity and k avery. , W’ho are the props and pillars of our pub lie edifice? Who are “the bone and muscle” ( of society? We sav, the echa des and hus | ba. idman ofthe land. From the ra ks oftlr se. I ( have sprung statesmen, philosophers m d i j sages, who h ive shed iinperish ible lustre up ■ t on the age i i which they liv d. I f the amou tj ( at' ttieful intellectual attainments could h cor- i . rectly estimated—we entertain no doubt, th U ■ the ranks of lhe intelligent mechanics a d i ; agriculturists, would carry off the palm by im- j _ m-' ise majorities. j _ Th n why qhould the almost universal es : fort to disgrace those professi r.ns. by a sitnul taneous rush into other ranks, any longer pie j vail? B-'tter—jnfi >it<-ly better, would it b* } that our hardy, athletic vonfh should shoulder . th- axe a d away beyond the mou itai s than bv a false pride and false estimate of true respectability, they should be thrust into ! wrong channels, to disease society, and weak t cn the bonds of the body politic. There th-'v might live in the true nobility of nature—cul- s tivato th ir ov.n fields, and shimbe bo icath t their ow i cottage; and, perhaps, become tlv- ( r founders of new com nir itiesof moral, physi- } r cql and i iteliectu dgi t is. I They are alone.— An account of a sudden death of a little girl, in New York, thus con clu les: ‘•The little girl was the last of the parents’s faqiilv—they are alone.” M ill those uho read the above lines, pause A**' . •> * Vol. lV"“Ao. « a moment and reflect up<> th ir i'"p Where once wnsh -ard the sound oi < b mirth, th jovous life or the thou hi! I ! there is now a mournful stillness. 4h< pa rents whose labors to m lintain a f.n: ii' " 1 lightened bv the reflection that th ir *>" * 1 dreu sh ired the produce of their 1 upr, n e no such reward for their toil—o b lighten the severity of their, labor. A' t morning’s sacrifice, at the table's b -sn > - at the evening’s prayer, they look a.ruy-d up on the unwonted solitude, and smi . to ii breasts with renewed anguish, for “th V : r “ alone,” I n sickness, who shall watch their I ' i '■ frames and nji lister to their thousa d y 7 Who shall hold the a guishedhead, or 1 ■ -iL - the feverish brow? They sh ill lyive 110 up on whom to call, for‘.‘they are alone.” D.-uth comes wi'h double pain—there nt - no ie to receive the dying bfessi ig—io ie to I p rpMutate the name and exercise the chn h !e 1 virtues —llO child to close the dimnii- s ‘"j “■ or to give dignitv to death by ualu.ral, tea . “they are aio ie.” Wh u b! ssi ig h is not Providence v->t»cH«n, fed in children? Trulv do th y rise “up l‘ke olive branches,” at o ice the source of h >.en.t bln pride aid the emblem of dun 'Stic p '■ . “1 will live among my own ki idred,” said the Nbunaiiiitish woman, when she wish'. : tn expr ssher means ofhappi less. Aliihai u. h -r eye were ki idre I to h t blood—b'it wh-,-.i the bfessi g of a child had b e 1 superttlded, she f It th • ki dred exte ided to th i heart, — When th it child lay uoon its moth r’s ku i i u til it died, the anguished par ■ ittneu t It tile soiitude ol childless less; she th in u iderst >od ti.at she “was alo.ae.” L t us learn to fluster — let ns become gre garious: our affectio n die wiihout reciproea -I’o : a id he wly> has passed you h a id my - hood in th ■ rou id of pleasure, ->r o 1 the b :sy m irt of trade, withdraws hnitsif at Ie gth for enjoyment, but finds th it h- is alone. The m’n of forty years s ioui-1 fi id, wherever he turns, some fice to cheer him with a s Kile, some to igue to bless hi m f>r f ivors. som • heart that beats with gr iti n I . —P. U. S. Gazette. From the People •« Press. A great Bear Story. REMARKABLE CASE OF ANIMAL INSTINCT. Wonderful Escape from Death, and the greatest Eear Story that has ever come t) my ears.— The story that 1 am about to relat ■, is one which has excited a great deal of feeli ig i 1 the vicinity where it hippe ied, and is well worth a conspicuous place i;i your paper. The facts as handed to me are these: O 1 Fri lay, the 30t 11 day of September last, near the. close of the day-a little lad abitit 8 years oil, by the name of George Parks, started in pur suit of the cows. He made his way along the path through a piece of woods of about half a mile in length. O.i reachi ig the oppo site side of the woods, he found his cattle aid started towards home. The drove co 1- sisted of a very gentle old cow and a numb r of young cattle.—His mother told him pr vi oils to bisstarii ig, to ke p tie,ar th ‘ °‘d cow. as she would conduct him 0 1 :f straight course h ime. This be was careful to oh -y; fl 1 shortly after he b id entered the woods on bis j w ,y horn -. w ilki g bv th ■ side of the oi l cow, ; he heard a crackling i t the bushes, and on | looking round what should he see, bet a large ; bear maki >g towards him with all the spe- d I and fury that those fer.iciot.s animals are pos ; s.-sq -d of. At th ; s critical period, strange as it may seem. th”, boy possessed presence of I mind enough to mike us« of this ilt r lative, i which was to jump astride of the cow’s hick, 'aufl learn ig forward h” caught h r by the | hors, and i : this p‘rilous situatto . rob' tnrp’ j the woods. The hear seemed to envy him I his elevated situatio i, and fii i would have pul t led him down. The cattle ran and roar-d the boy screamed—but afl did not terrify the bear, ever and anon she would come alo g side of ourgallant rider, growli ig and s tarli -<r and striking with her paws—and would have, torn him in pieces, but for the other c.itfl who would as often attack her in the r mr, and as she would tur i to give them battle, the cow would gain of her some rods. Sh • would then leave the you ig cattle, aid come with II speed after the boy, which s >eme.d to b - her whole aim. S veral tjm.es she r, s > uppn h r hi td leg to take, him, and as often th-* catti • would give her battle; until the bear’s cubs, came up, and the young cat le turned upon them. The eld bear took the r part, and the cow a d her rider had arrived at lhe door of th ■ firm house, ere the old hear c<>uld again re. new her attack. The boy iy is alm >A sense, less with fright, aid it was not until some time after he hid alighted from th * ccAv, th >t he was enabled to report to his mother the why aid wherefore. It is thought the h>v will hereafter prefer that soma one else should drive the cows to the yard. Bradford, (Me.) Oct 2 I, 1836. A Valuable Jewel.— Behold the road to hap. I oi less*—rows ot’trees o i each side, uniting at j the top. form a beau’iful arbqur. See’ woman I isstrewi g it with flowers—how sweet—how refreshi-ig the sm 11 —see, too, the temple of happiness—built of the purest alabast r—-its white colum s rise amidst the gn.en foliage— it sta >ds upo i a foundation of adamant. Its i terior is one large and sp icious dome, arou d which are set many j welsof u 'Common lustre, namely,—virtue, truth, low*, ass ctio i, friend, ship, and ii> umerab’e oth rg. But in Che centre is one fir brighter than all the rest—it sheds no single rav but o e vast volume of un. creat d light, surpassing i i brilliancy the sun itsi'lf-—yi't mild as the moon beam. It pene trates. fills a id surrounds everv part of the <pa. cions dom -—a d r fl -ett ig ail the colours yf he tai bow. flit.quiver and stream with flick, ■ring radia'ce. This jewel is religion under its power, age assumes th * freshn-ss of youth —new b • nuti< s ar* added to the blush of love —contentment sports around—and the placid smile of real pleasure sits upon every lip,'light, ens everv countenance. TIIOI'GLITXi AND SENTIMENTS. FROM THE CERMAN OF J. P. RICHTER. Life. — Man has two rpinutes a >d a half to live. —one tq s ntie —o r» to s : ’»h—an ' a half to low —for in th mi Idle of this mi -nte he lies. But th * grave is not deep—it is the sninitrend of an j I 'hit. s”eks us. When th ■ii ik.iown hand throws the last fatal dart at the head of man. then boweth he his head and th** d >rt only fits the crown of thorns from his won ds. Sympathy.— Two noble souls discover their relatio snip first by the hke love that they bear to a third. AZetnory—Th" distant of Memory alone ca* change the drops of time through which wc swim into the rainbow of onj oy. ment.