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BY JAMES W. JONES.
The Southern Whig,
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I’KRSPEUTUS
OF THE
BOOTSIfiM WE®.
THIA paper formerly edited by Win. E.
Jones, is now under the direction of the
undersigned. The growing importance of Ath
ens, the state of parlies in Georgia, and tae
agitation cf certain questions having a direct
influence on southern interests; render it neees
aarytMhat the northwestern part of Georgia
should have some vigilant, faithful sentinel
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construction ofthe true spirit ot the constitution,
tire maintainancc of the rights and sovereignty
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patronage, reform, and a strict accountability
of all public officers; moderate, yet firm and
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ly abuses and corruption when and whereevr
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poses to make the Whig; while it will contain
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turns, the latest
guild articles, aiidK" ’‘’"*,7’ *
popular worksot
meats ot
To Georgians the u i -
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tain subscribsrs.
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J. W. JONES.
Adißiiiaistrator’s Safe.
UNDER an order of the Inferior Court ot I
Gwinnett county, when sitting for ordina
ry purposes, will be'sold on tie first Tuesday
in January next, at Lawrenceville, within the
usual hours ot sale, .
Fifteen Ukely Negroes,
Consisting ot six large Fellows (one a good
Wack-Smith,) women, house girlsjvery likely)
and children. i
Also seven Lots in the town ofLawrenceville,
to wit: No. 33 with a Tavern-house well situ
ated fbr the business, Nos. 35, 49, 50, 67, and
half of Lots Nos, 48, and 77.
Also the following Lots of Land, Nol. 8 25,
and 136, in the 7th district, Nos. 173 and 206,
and part of Lots Nos. 113, 144,147,174 and 175,
in the sth district, all in Gwinnett county, be
longing to the estate of James Wardlaw late of
said County, dec’d. sold for the benefit ot the
heirs of said deceased. Terms made knowp on
the day.
C. HOWELL, Adm’r.
de bonis non.
Oct. 29, —26—tds
" PKOMTi4■T S■ *.
AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank
lin College, it was unanimously resolved ti.
be.expedient to make arrangements to issue a
Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called
THE ATHENIAN.
The undersigneu were appointed by the So
ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi
tors of the work, until the next meeting of tne
Society. We have no interest in the work, ex
cept that which we take in the welfare of the
country and honor of the State. We, ofthe
South, have too long depended upon foreign
parts forotir Literature, and neglected our own
talents. We shall be weak so long as we think
we are weak: and dependent until we make ef
forts to be independent. We hope all the friends
of Literature in the State, and especially the
Alumni of Franklin College, will patronize the
enterprise both by word and deed. State pride
the love, of Literature, our interest in the cause
of general Education, all pall upon us to sustain
; an enterprise so necessary to our improvement,
; and the honor of the State.
A. S. CLAYTON,
JAMES JACKSON,
R. D. MOORE,
VVM. L. MITCHELL,
C. F. McCAY,
SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY,
IL HULL.
The Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine,
fmper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form,
and shall contain sixty-four pages royal octavo.
Nothing derogatory to religion, offensive to atty
denomination of Christians, or of any political
party, shall appear in the Athenian. Its pages
shall be honestly devoted to general Literature,
the cause of Education, the Review of new
works, and notices of improvements in Science,
Arts and Agriculture. Price Five Dollars per
annum, payable on the delivery ofthe first num
ber.
FOUR months after d#te application will be
made to the Honorable the Inferior Court
of Clark eounty, when sitting for ordinary pur
poses, for leave to sell all the Lands belonging to
the Estate of the Orphans of Henry Houze
dec’d for the benefit ofthe Orphans of said
Jeceased.
DARIAS T. HOUZE, Guar.
Sept. 10, 19 4m
law blanks
For Sale at this Office.
me
From the Tioga Phoenix.
SHE BREATHKO TO ME HER EOVE.
BY MISS MARY E. JACKSON.
She breathed to me her love, and the fresh tears
Stole down her deep flushed cheeks, for she
had dreamed
Os cold unkindness; yet the love she bore
Was still the same as when at first she gave
Her deep fraught heart away, as deep and vast
As ocean’s darkest depths; but cold neglect
Had come upon her, and the chilling blight
Os unrequited love, sent to her heart
Its withering influence. She had poured out
Upon her passion’s altar, all the wealth
Os her young heart, made priceless by the store
Os intellectual hoarding, yet that wealth
Was thrown upon a vapour, and her heart
Bowed down beneath its loss.
Oh how deep
Is woman’s quenchless love; a flame that burns
Amidst its thousand ruins, brightest far
When seen above the gloom; a ray that points
Beyond all space to him by whom that light
Has first been kindled; to a brighter home
In the far field of heaven, till all consumed
By the o’er mastering flame, that light expires,
And the o’er burdened spirit wanders back
To heaven, its own bright home.
She was too pure.
Too loved, too beautiful for earth,
A flower just sent to blossom for awhile
Then pass away. She was a feeble thing
E’en from her infancy, and her young heart
Fashioned so finely, could not brook the change
Os sudden disappointment, and she passed,
Down to the gloomy darkness ofthe grave
Think not ’tis’false, or that the minstrel’s lyre
Is tuned to fancy’s theme. The tale is true;
And where yon dark leaved cypress gently )
waves
Her pale tomb stands. Mark you that spot, (
O’erhung by drooping cypress, and the vines
Her sister’s hands have planted! ’Tis ascetic
Os holy mournfulness, and oft at eve
I seek that quiet spot, to dream of her
Who sleeps beneath.
She told me of her griefs.
And day by day, I watched her heart decline.
Vainly I strove to guard the lamp of life,
While flickering in its socket, but my hand
AV as ail too rude. She turned from earth,
As from a frightful picture, and the light
Went out with fitful flashings.
All is past
And yonder house of clay, so sadly marked,
Is her last dwelling pl.yce. Then let. her rsst,
And let the proud world point the hand of scorn,
AVhich may not reach her; let the thoughtless
*wtarca.«tic smile. What boots her
* • v ‘ the sod!
From the Philadelphia Mirror.
TH JE RK 3 U A I, G2F T .
BY MRS. FAIRLIE.
Emily F - was the daughter of a lady who,
since her widowhood, had seen much ad
versity. Mrs. F. was of good family, and
her deceased husband had been highly re
spected and eminent in his profession.—
Many of their children had fallen victims
to consumption, and there now only re
mained three of a once numerous family:
Emily, Charles, and Edward, were their j
names. They were all remarkable for j
personal beauty; Emily’s was of the most j
feminine and delicate character. Iler hair j
was of a light and glossy brown, and pecu- .
liarly abundant; her eyes deep blue, her j
cheeks faintly tinted with pink, but her‘
lips were of the brightest hue. Such were i
her charms; and the portrait of her, which
was painted w hen she was on the eve of
marriage with one to whom she was most
fondly attached, conveys but an inadequate I
idea of their perfection. Albert was but
three years her senior, and was in every i
respect a suitable match for her. His pa
rents already loved her as their own child, i
and qdl who knew them began to think that j
for once the course of true love must run |
smooth. The w edding day was fixed,and ,
Emily took a natural and innocent delight
in looking at the bridal apparel, and sim
ple but elegant accessories to a female toi
let, which were gifts from her present and
future, relatives. Albert was not wealthy,
and consequently diamonds, pearls, and
i rubies, India shawls and costly robes were
1 not there: nor did the happy girl for one
moment regret their absence; and her lov
er, when he saw her glossy ringlets and
fair and polished brow, thought plumes ‘
and a tiara would almost mar their beauty.
Eager did Entity gaze from her cham
ber window at the hour when Albert usu-1
ally arrived, and gladly did she had him
when he came. Bright visions of years
of bliss floated before them both, and they
W’ere never weary of painting their future [
home. Alas! their hopes were doomed
,to be unfulfilled. Albert was seized with
sudden illness. Medical aid. and the at
tentions of fond relatives and of an ador
ing girl were unavailing; and. on the day ,
previous to that w hich should have shone .
on her nuptials, Emily had to deplore thej
death of her lover.
1 need not try to paint 11
I her feelings.* Vainly '
i to describe that
(gine. Yet
ilhout
I ed to him aWo A i
' regions wh«k’ ' , ... A " mere
tears cease 6 ®* ’ ' hearts
ached not. 01 :
her sorrw, at the
first how was her loss.!
She spoke not of Albert, but
her thoughts were ever with him. , |
It was about two years after the death
of her lover that Emilv became acquainted,
with Lord 1.. He was a, young man of
prepossessing manners and appearance,
and possessed of a large fortune, lins
heart was soon bestowed on the gentle
ami lovely girl, and he paid tier many kun.
and unobtrusive attentions. Lord L. was
totally unacquainted with Emily s previ
ous engagement, and attributed to the al
teration in her fortune that depression w men
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. ’’—Jefferson.
arose from disappointed affection. Emily
believed that lie was acquainted with het
sad story, and was grateful for his delicate
and silent regard; but she knew not the
nature or depth of his feelings. She was
therefore much surprised and really griev
ed, when lie one day avowed his love, and
besought her to become Jiis bride. She
burst into tears, and for some moments
was unable to speak. At length, she was
about to reply, but a visitor was announc
ed, and ere she had time to say more than
“I will write to you,” a giddy, fashionable
acquaintance entered the room, who ex
hibited no intention of a speedy departure.
Consequently, in a brief time Lord L. took
his leave, wearied by the frivolity, which
would at any period have annoyed him,
but which now very quickly exhausted his
patience.
It was nearly an hour ere Emily bade
adieu to the intruder; she then flew to her
mother, whom slight indisposition had con
fined to her apartment. On naming to her
the proposal she had received, Mrs. F.
exclaimed, “ how fortunate, how delight
ful !”
“ Delightful ?” echoed herdnughter; “my
dearest mother,! do not understand these
expressions.”
“ Why, what parent would not rejoice at
her daughter having engaged the affections
of so amiable*, agreeable, and in every
way so charming a young man as Lord L?”
“ Nay, you should pity him,” said Emily,
“since I believe him sincere in his profes
sion of regard, and he will consequently
feel much disappointment when I shall tell
him how utterly impossible it is that I
should ever marrv.”
“And why, Emily, should you never
marry
Dear mother, can you ask that ques
tion ?—can vou believe me to be so mean
as to wed for wealth and rank I”
“ You. dislike Lord L., then ?” said
Mrs. F.
“Oh ! no; I think him an amiable and
agreeable young man, with much good
sense, and high and honourable feeling. I
have never met with one I would more
gladly hail as the husband of tny sister,
had 1 one; but, dearest mother, I can nev
er love again; my heart lies in the tomb of
Albert.”
Tears flowed abundantly as she con
cluded, and for some time they were both
silent. At length Mrs. F. resumed.
“ I have, I believe, Emily, always been
a kind and tender parent to you.”
“You have, you have, indeed !” inter
rupted her daughter.
“And 1 have never been unreasonable
or unjust. Emily, were Albert living, I
would not urge you to mairy another,
though a reigning sovereign should ask
you for his bride. But, lie is gone, and
since Lord 1.., is not personally disagree
able to you—since you know and appre
ciate his many amiable and estimable
qualities, I beseech you not. to refuse the
happy and brilliant position which is now
offered to you. lam aware that a young
and ardent girl imagines that it is neces
sary to be violently in love w hen she mar
ries. You say yon can never be so more;
but trust me, my dear child, respect, es
teem, and regard, will make you as hap
py as, or even perhaps happier than love
could do.”
Did Mrs. F. believe her own words ? 1
doubt it; at any rate, she failed to convince
her daughter. But I will not
many conversations which took N. o'
tween the ladies; suffice it to say,
agreed that her mother should see Lord
L. the following day, and explain to him
her feelings.
When her elder son returned that even
ing, Mrs F. was closeted with him for
some time. He told her he was sure
Lord I*, was in total ignorance of Albert
ever having existed; and strongly urged
her not to mention to his lordship the cir
cumstance of his sister’s attachment.
“ Os course,” added he, “Emily feels at
first a little dislike to form a new engage
ment. It is natural, since it recalls more
vividly the memory of poor Albert. lie '
was 3. fine, noble fellow, and airy girl might
have liked him; but L. is also an excellent
young man; he is besides handsome and
rich, and Emily will soon insensibly be
come attached to him. 1 would let her
imagine he knew all her former history,
whilst, in fact, I tell him she was
not prepared to give a decided answer at
present, and keep him in a little suspense,
at the same time giving great hopes (which
I think you reasonably may) of a final sa
tisfactory reply.”
Mrs. F. highly approved of her son’s
scheme, and acted accordingly. Some
months afterwards, Lord I*., who had con
tinued his visits, again besought Miss F.
to become his wife. His letter was a rare '
specimen of ardent affection, and good ;
sense. Had it by any accident fallen into
the hands of an uninterested stranger, it
would, unlike the iienerality of love letters,
have failed to excite a smile of derision.
This epistle had its due effect with Emily;
and her relatives so strongly urged her, 1
length gave her consent. Sac I
much as possible to banish
dNjice of other days. Lord L. i
i* s ' ' splendour which became
yet his taste was not
. ' in town was furnished
’•dVwUWlffire and beauty, but simplicitv.
The jewels with which he presented his !
bride were equally neat and costly. His |
boudoir was a iiiiic, paradise. The choic
est works ot Nngiiso anil foreign autiiors, i
in the most elegant bindings, adorned the
book shelves: beautifui plants, among which ;
Emily s favourite, the moss i >se, was con
spicuous, shed a delicious odour around,
i’he diinmey-piece was supported on ei
ther side by Cupid and I’ayche.two beau- i
tiful maible figures from the chisel ofthe !
younger Westmacott. A mac-nificent
lournay carpet covered the floor; a few j
exquisite pictures of the ancient school,
and one by a modern artist, but beautiful
ly finished, hung upon the wails. The last
was a portrait in Lord L. All that affec
tion could imagine, art invent, and wealth
purchase, was united to adorn the boudoir
ofthe fair Emily.
ATHENS, GEOKWSA. SATURDAY, JANUARY 7, 1837.
At length, the 12th of May, the day so
• anxiously anticipated by Lord L., arrived.
■ His sisters were to be the bride’s inaids,
and as they assisted to adorn the gentle
Emily for the nuptial ceremony, they fortn
. ed a lovely group. Fanny was just ar
ranging the fail of the bridal veil, when
Bertha, gazing from the window, exclaim
ed, “ here comes Edgar! naughty boy, why
this is quite contrary to all etiquette; the
bride and bridegroom should meet for the
first time on their wedding day, at the al
tar. Look, Emily, how beautiful the new
carriage looks, and what splendid bay
horses.”
Emily could only faintly smile, and echo
the word “ beautiful.”
“ See ! the carriage drives away again;
Edgar has left a parcel,” continued Ber
tha, as she ran out ofthe room to meet the
servant who brought it. A little note con
i tained these words :
“ I send my beloved Emily some of our
family jewels. The pearls, love, are less
delicately fair than thou, and cannot add
to thy beauty, yet wear them for the sake
of thine adoring L.”
; The bride’s maids eagerly opened the
j case, but started back with affrighted looks
; and exclamations of horror. Emily bent
j forward to discover the cause of (heir
i alarm, and beheld a set of jet ornaments.
j She was net superstitious, yet who can
I wonder that the colour forsook her cheeks,
! and a sick, faint feeling came over her.—
i She strove to conquer it, however, and
I succeeded.
I The time had arrived lor the party to
assemble at the church. Lord L. met his
bride at the door of the sacred edifice, and
perceiving her neck and arms were un
adorned, “ Why,” said he, “did not my Em
ily wear my bridal gift; surely the orna
ments were meet to adorn her on her nup
tial day ?”
The brow of the gentle maiden, which
had the previous moment worn a smile of
I chastened sadness, became overcast. The
! sad recollection of Albert obtruded on her
' heart, and she muttered to herself, “Yes!
funeral emblems are meet for her whose I
heart is in the grave.”
But L. heard her not, for his sisters were
chillingly telling him ofthe strange and
disagreeable mistaka he had made in send
ing a mourning suit, instead of one of
orient pearls. He naturally felt consid- j
erable annoyance; but at this moment they
were called to the altar, and in a few mi
nutes the vows were pronounced which
bound him for life to the object of his ar
dent affection.
Congratulations passed round. I need
not pause to describe the dojeune, nor the
company. Emily changed her bridal at
tire for a more usual style of dress; and I
i the next day's paper announced that “the I
j happy pair left town, in a travelling cha- j
| riot and four, for L. Hal!, the bridegroom’s
i splendid seat in Hurts.”
Nothing could exceed the kindness and
devoted attention shown by Lord L. to
his beautiful Emily; and she felt the deep
est gratitude towards him, but she could
not reciprocate his passion. The idea that
she had broken her vows to Albert haunt
ed her; and her health and spirits declined
daily. At the end of a fortnight, they re
turned to town. Mrs. F. assisted Lord L.
to nurse the gentle patient and his fair sis
' tecs strove to amuse her mind, but in vain.
j To them, as well as their brother, the
evident grief was a mys-
***| oSWl«“rstftof June, many of those who
mat day month had assisted at the wed
ding, were again assembled in the same
church. The minister officiated; but now
as he opened the book his hand trembled,
and tears rendered his voicejscarcely audi
ble as he read the burial service ! The
remains of the fair and gentle Emily were
committed to the earth. And her fond
husband, knew he had slain her ? Yes;
she left these lines for him :
“I have striven, but in vain, dear Ed
gar, to bear up against my grief. The ef
fort was beyond my strength. Forget me,
and seek in a union with another that bliss
which there was but little hope of your
finding with her whose heart has long been
iu the tomb. Forgive me, dear, kind Ed
gar. Indeed,indeed, 1 strove to be hap
py, and it was not your fault I was not so.
Y’ou knew how 1 had loved Albert. I
never could speak to you on the subject,
but my mother told me all you said. Hea
ven bless you, and assist you in a second
and more fortunate choice. Emily.”
“ And i have killed her,” said lie, when he
had perused the scroll. “ Had she remain
ed faithful to her first vows, she might have
lived for years.”
•• Dear Edgar,” urged his sisters, “you
knew not of her precious attachment.—
On her mother and brothers rests the
blame.”
Edgar mournfully shook his head and
left the room.
“ Poor, dear brother,” said Fanny, “he
deserved a happier fate.”
More than a year after, Lord L. and
his sisters were met by some English tra
vellers at Nice. He wms there for the re- j
storation of his health, and hoping to find j
in change of scene abalm to sooth his
griefs.
From the Westchester
A TAILS 3 OS’ T’iV'K’Jll.
Tit’-: observation that “Truth is stronger !
than Fiction,’ is finely illustrated by the :
following story which was related to us
some time since by a lady well acquainted
with all the parties. At her request w r e
suppress the names of those concerned
and substitute others.
Many years age, two f iends, Edward !
Maiming and George Belden, resided in
the vicinity of Cattskill mthis State. They
had been educati ■! at the same schools,
had grown to maturity in the same neigh
borhood, and at an early age had married
and settled on adjoining farms—Here,
however, the parallel between them ceas
ed. The wife of Edward was a sweet,
companionable woman, of great personal
attractions, and a soft, and w inning address,
whilst that of George was old, ugly, unso
cial, and though possessed of many atnia-’
ble qualities of mind, was altogether un-;
suited to the ardent temperament of her {
husband. Indeed it may not be amiss to
say, that George had probably married
her more from a desire to possess himself
lof her valuable farm, than for any other
attraction which she might have possessed.
) and though really a worthy woman, she
had never been able to secure his affections.
Notwithstanding this difference, the
world prospered with the friends, each of j
whom experienced the vicissitudes com
mon to married life, and ‘little cares, little
pleasures, little troubles and little children,
multiplied with each succeeding year.
The eldest of Mr. Belden’s children was j
a boy, and the first-born of Mr. Manning’s j
was a girl, who, being nearly of an equal ■
age, were constantly together —associated I
alike in their study and in their play. The j
parents, also, kept Up a friendly interchange i
of kind offices, and a constant intercourse I
every way agreeable and honorable, until ■
the sixth year of their marriage, when Mr. 1
Manning was called from his home on bu
siness ofimportance and detained fbr some
i time. On his return, he found to his utter
1 astonishment, that his charming wife—
j the wife of his bosom and his love—had
! forsaken his home and gone off with his
former friend and companion, George
I Belden, carrying with them little Lucy, ■
his only living child. His grief may per
haps be imagined but not described. De
ceived by his friends, forsaken by his wife,
and by the same stroke deprived of his !
child, the agony of the moment was too I i
much for his constitution, he became sick
at heart, and sank for a time beneath the i
load of his sorrows: recovering at length, I
he instituted a diligent search for the fu- <
gitives, but every effort to detect them :
proved in vain. j I
Meantime Mr. Belden had made good s
his retieat to the Far- FFest, with his stolen ’
bride and her charming little daughter, 1
whilst his own family remained, unheeded, .
behind. He paused at one of the new :
villages which was then springing up along I
the banks of the lower Mississippi, where t
he had scarcely settled himself when he ;
and his paramour were both attacked with t
the yellow fever which was raging there ;
at the time, and suddenly hurried them to 1
their account, leaving little Lucy an orphan s
and a stranger far from her native home. |
It so happened, however, that Dr. Elmore, t
the physician who had attended them in t
their last moments, was so struck with her t
beauty and intelligence, that he at once 1
determined to take her to his own house t
and adopt her as his child. Dr. Elmore 1
had no children—we think that he was a j
bachelor—but however that may be, he t
became very fond of little Lucy, took great c
pains to give her the best opportunity fbr <
education which the place afforded—cul- 1
tivated both her mind and her manners— t
behaved towards her in all respects like a |
parent, and she grew up a beautiful, enga- j
ging, affectionate girl, the delight of her :
foster-father and the centre and charm of !
the little circle in which she moved. <
H hen Lucy was carried away from her
home, she was sufficiently old to under
stand that all was not exactly right be
tween her mother and Mr. Belden, and to
recollect the names of several places in
the vicinity of the town where she had
lived. As she increased in years, these
impressions of her infancy were strength
ened by a greater degree of knowledge,
and from time to time she communicated
to her foster-father all that she knew res
pecting her own history and the place
and scenes of her early home. The infor
mation thus gleaned was sufficient to awa
ken a desire for more, and Dr. Elmore
requested the member of Congress from
his district to make further inquiries ofthe
member representing the district in which
Lucy had resided.
Now it so happened that the member
from New-York was acquainted with all
the circumstances of the eloncment, knew
all the parties, and was therefore possess
ed of all the desired information, w hich he
communicated accordingly, and at the
same time wrote to Air. Manning inform
ing him of the death of his former wife and
of his former friend; and ot the circum
stances and situation of his child.
This information aroused all the tender
feelings of the father, and he resolved im
mediately to take his journey for the great
valley ofthe Mississippi, and see his long
lost daughter. He found her every thing
that he could wish. The little, gay, frolic
some I*ucy, had become the admired and
beautiful AZiss—the light,dancing,thought
less girl, had changed into the full and
rounded proportions of a lovely woman.
The meeting, too, was affectionate and
kind on the part of both. They embraced
and kissed each other, and as the bright
recollections of other days came rushing
o’er his mind, Mr. Manning yielded to the
impulse of his gentle nature and wept
aloud.
But we cannot pause to give the partic
ulars of the interview. Mr. Manning
tarried a few days with Dr. Elmore, and
then obtained a reluctant consent to take
his leave, and carry with him his new-found
treasure. Accordingly, Lucy took, as she
supposed, a final leave of her kind protec
tor, and her sobs and swollen eyes told how
hard it was to part with one who had been
to her such a true friend—such an affec
tionate lather. Ntill they did part, and
Mr. Manning and his beautiful daughter I
were soon wending their way o’er the j
surface of that mighty stream which j
sweeps its devious course through the vast i
and fertile valley that bears its name.
But at that time, the progress up the '
river w ifc slow and toilsome, and interrup- j
ted by a thousand obstacles, They had I
been on their way two or three days, and
vet had moved but a few miles from their
place of starting, when their further ad
vance was entirely checked by a dead ■
calm, anil Lucy and her father went on
shore to while away the idle time till the
elements should be more propitious.
They ascended the bank of the river—
the air was mild, the forest green, the sun
low in the heavens —the prospect around
was extensive and beautiful, and attract
ed the admiring eye ofthe sensitive maid-
j en: and that she might be enabled to take
■ in the whole varied scene at a glance, her
father placed her upon the limb .of a fallen
tree, where her elevated position comman
ded a magnificent view. Above, was the
clear, tranquil sky—around, the vast
interminable forest, where nature reigned
in her deepest solitudes —beyond, the
clear blue of the horizon mingled its soft
ened border with the summer drapery of
■ the undulating hills, and at her feet lay the
mighty Father of FFaters, sweeping his
majestic and ceaseless way amid the deep
grandeur of the solitary waste.
Lucy dwelt with the enthusiasm of youth
j upon the beautiful scene, and her eye was
1 still engaged in tracing the various charms
! which it presented, when her attention
j was attracted in another direction ; and
> turning around, she saw a carriage wind
ing its way through the thick forest, and
' on a nearer approach her eye flashed with
hoy, and she exclaimed, “Dr. Elmore, Dr.
1 Elmoi'e !” and springing from her eleva
ted position, she fan to meet and embrace
her old friend and guardian.
The Doctor had found himself so un
comfortable without the soothing atten
tions of his adopted daughter, that he de
termined to go after her, and make anoth
er effort to prevail on Mr. Manning to 1
commit her again to his protection and ,
keeping. With this view, knowing that j
it would be easy to overtake the boat in ■
its passage against the current, he started
in pursuit and was fortunate enough to
meet Mr. Manning and his daughter upon
the bank of the river. It was, however,
no easy matter to persuade a father to re
linquish his beautiful, his only, his long lost
child. The struggle between his affection,
and what seemed to him his duty, was
long and painful; but Dr. Elmore urged
such reasons as finally induced him to
yield—the arrangement was fully made--
Lucy’s trunks were brought on shore—
Mr. Manning gave her his parting blessing
affectionately kissed her as she sobbed her
faint farewell, and was about to return to j
the boat on his way to New-York, when i
a man from on board the vessel lying at '
anchor in the river, approached the group j
and inquired where a physician could be |
found. Dr. Elmore informed him that j
such was his profession, and the stranger i
pressed him to go on board his vessel and i
visit a young man xvho had been taken l
violently ill oh his passage down the river, j
and he feared was in a dangerous situation. !
In complying with this request the Doctor I
urged Lucy and her father to accompany j
him, which they did, and the reader can'
judge of Mr, Manning’s surprise, when, in |
the person ofthe sick patient, he discover- '
ed the eldest son of his treacherous friend I
George Belden. He was on his way to
New-Orleans, where he was to join his
mother’s brother in a lucrative and pros
perous business, and in his affliction the
joy which he felt on meeting such a friend ;
as Mr. Manning can scarcely be conceived, j
It was soon arranged that the vessel should j
drop down the stream as far as Dr. El-1
more’s residence, where George should I
remain until his recovery, and that Mr. |
Manning sh >uld attend him there, whilst ■
Lucy and the Doctor should return bv land, j
The rest of our story is soon told.
George recovered from his illness, and
smitten with the charms of his youthful
playmate, abandoned his expedition to
New-Orleans, and pressed his suit with
the beautiful maid, Until his love was an
swered with the hand of our affectionate
and amiable friend. Mr. Manning delay
ed his journey to witness the consumma
tion of his daughter’s happiness, when he
returned to New-York. George and Lu
cy remained with Dr. Elmore, and finally
settled in that vicinity, where we believe
they still remain.
From the Philr ddphia Alrror.
I s OLIS 25 YI A It T I A I* II VM N .
BY LADY CHARLOTTE ST. MAUR.
The standard's raised, the sword is drawn.
And fix’d the Polish spear;
Our hands are met, our chief’s are sworn,
And what have we to fear !
Our fiery steeds are tightly rein’d
And snorting, paw the ground ;
With hoof of speed to scour the plain,
They wait the trumpet’s sound.
Ere long its thrilling blast shall blow,
Re-echoing afar;
Ere long the pure and stainless snow
Shail blush with crimson war.
Though countless hosts in proud array; j
’Gainst freedom’s sons advance,
Y’et vict’ry still may crown the day,
And gild the Polish lance !
Henceforth, united let us be,
I
Though weal or woe betide ;
For links of honour bind the free,
Whom fate can ne’er divide.
And should the soldier’s bloody tomb
Await us marshalled here,
Fond, faithful hearts shall mourn our doom,'
Then what have we to fear!
~.
From the Cabinet o f Biography.
2,ord Burteisrlii’s advice to his son Robert
cecil.
“Son Robert—The virtuous inclinations
of thy matchless mother, by whose tender and i
godly care thy infancy was governed, togeth
er with thy education uuderso zealous and ex- !
cellent a tutor, puts me iu rather assurance I
than hope, that thou art Siimmum bonum, which I
is only able to make thee happy as well in thy ;
death as in thy life—l mean the tine knowl
edge and worship ol’ihy Creator and Redeem. (
er, without which all other things are vain and j
miserable. So that, thy youth being guided I
by sorfficient a teacher,! m ike no d :übt that {
he will furnish thy life with divine and 'neral I
documents. et, that I may not cast ofl’ the
care beseeming a parent towards his child, or j
that thou shouldest have cause to derive thy j
whole felicity and welfare rather from others j
than from whence thou receivedst thy breath i
and being, I think it. fit and agreeable to the |
affection I bear thee, to help thee with such !
rules and advertisements tor the squaring ot | 1
thv life as are rather gained by experience than i
by much reading. To the end that, entering j i
into this exorbitant age, thou mayest be the I
Vol. IV—No. 36.
e better pnq>arAp> shun those scandalous cour
r »es whereunto the World and the lack of expe
n rie.:ce may easily dfaw thee. And because I
i. will not confound thy memory, I have reduefed
e them into te i preCepts; and, next unto Moses’
, t I.tbies, ii thou imprint them in thy mind, thou
j shalt reap the benefit, and I the content. And
p they are these f flowing:
1. A hen it, shall please God to bring thee td
j. ma .’s estate, ust: great providence and circuniJ
spectio-i in choosing thy wife; for from thence
- will Hpi i n all thy good or evil. And it is an
s action uftby life like tinto a stratagem of war;
> j wherein a man can err hut oi.ee* If thy es-
- late be good, match near hdttle and at leisure;
1 if w.ak, far off and quickly, tnqdire diligeut-
S iy of' her dis >os'ititio:i, and hoW her parents
S have been inclined in their youth* Let her
j not be poor, iim.v generous soever; for a tn»n
] can bnv nothing in the market with gentility.
! Nus choose a base and uncommonly ugly crea
[ ; ture filtogether for wealth; for it will causd
l contempt j. others and ioutbing in thee. Nei
ther make a choice of a dwarfof a fool; for
' by the one thou shall beget a race of pigmies:
the other w ill be thy co itinual disgrace; and
! will yirkee tiled to bear her talk, For thou
shall find if to thy great grief, that there is no,
' thi >g m »re fulsome than p she-fool.
And touching t he guiding of thy house, let
■ thv h s >itality be moderate, and according ttf
■ the me ms of thy estate, rather plentiful thaw
> ] sparing, but. not costly; for I never knew any
I j man grow poor by keeping an orderly table.-
» j Bat some consume themse.ves through secret
i ' vices, and th air hospitality bears the blame.
| Bat bullish swinish drunkards out of thine
, house, which is a vice impairing health,- cjn-
( s uni g much, and tn '.kes up show* I never
heard praise tucrib d to the drn ikard but the
well-bearing his drink, which is a better com
mendation for a brewer’s horse ot a drayman
than for either a gentleman or a serving man-
Beware thou spend not above three or four
parts of thy revenues, nor above a third partot
that time in thy house; tor the; two will do
more than defr iy thy extraordinaries, which
always surmou t the ordinary by much; oth
erwise thou shait live, like a rich beggar, iu
continual want* And the needy man can nev
er live happily not contentedly; for every disas
; ter makes him ready to mortgage or sell; And
i that g I'tli.-inan who sells an acre of land sells
t an ounce of credit; fir gentility isnothing else
' but ancient riches. So that,it the foundation
! shail at. a.tv time sink, the building must needs
j follow:—So much forth i first precept.
i 2 Bring thy children up m learning and
j obedience, yet without outward austerity*
I Praise th in openly,, reprehend them secretly.'
; Give them good countenance, and convenient
I maiutena ice acc<,nli ig to thy ability;—other
, wise, thy life will seem their bondage, find
) what portion thou shall leave them at thy
death they will thank death for it, and not
' thee. And I am p irsuaded that the foolish
j cockering of some parents, «md the overstenj
j carnage of others, causeth more men and wo-'
I men to take id courses, thaa theii own vicious
! i cii. t.o.is, M'.fry tliy daughters iu time,
lest they marry themselves* And suffer nol
thy so.is to pass the Alps; for tb.-y shall learu
nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and athe
' ism. And if by travel they get a few broken
languages, that shall profit them nothing more
j than to have one meal served in divers dishes,
j Neither by my consent, shait thou train theni
■ up in wars; for he that sets up his rest to live
i by that, profession can hardly be an honest mail
or a good Christian. Besides, it is a science
no longer in request than use: lor soidiefa in
! peace are like fihirnneys in summer.
■ ! 3. Live not iu the country without coru
I ! and cattle about thee; fur he that puiteth his
1 i hand to the purse fur expense of household, is
like Ifim that keepeth water in a seive. And
i ( what provision thou shait want, learn to buy if
at the best liaqd; for there is one penny saved
! in four betwixt buying in thy need and when!
. ! the markets and season serve fittest for it. Bet
not served with kinsman, or friends, or men
entreated to stay; for they expect much and
do little; nor with such as are amorous, for
their heads are intoxicated. And keep rather
too few, than one too many. Feed them well,
(and pav them with the most; and then thou
, mayest boldly require service at their hands.
4. Let thy kt .dred and allies be welcome to
j thv house and table. Grace them with thy
j countenance, and farther them ia all honest
1 actions, for, by this means, thou shait so dou
' ble the b.uid ot nature, as thou shait fi id them
! so many advocates to plead apology for thee
' bthi :d thv back. But shake off'those glow
norms—l mean parasites and sycophants—
' who will feed and fawn upon thee in the sum
mer of prosp rity; but, in an adverse storm*
! they will sbekcr thee no more than un arbor iu
vi inter.
5. B ware ofsnretyship fbr thy b.st frie ids*
H" that piiveili another man’s debt seeketb
i his own decay. Bui it’ thou canst not other*
j wise choose, rather lend thy money thyself*
i and pleasure thy friend. Neither borrow mo-
I ney of a neighbor or a friend, btit-of a siren.
; ger; n here paying for it, thou shall hear no
| more of it: otherwise thou shait eclipse thy
! credit, lose thy fn e.loin, and yet pay as dear
as to another. Butin borrowing of monev,
' be precious of thy word; for he that hath care
j of keeping days of payment, ;S lord of another'
! man’s purse.
i 6. Undertake no suit against a poor man’
' w tliout receiving much Wrong; for, besides
! that thou rnakest him thy compeer, it is a base
I conquest to triumph where there is small re.
I sistance. Neither attempt law against anv
. man before thou ba fully resolved l!»at thou
j hast right on tny side, and then spare not for
i either money or pains; for a cause or two so 1
; followed and obtained, will free thee Irotn suits
’ a great part of thv life.
[ 7. Be sure to keep some great man thy
j friend, but trouble him not for trifles. Com.
j pfiment him often with many, yet small gifts,
' and cf little charge} and if thou hast Cause to
j bestow any great giatuity* let it be something
■ which miy be daily in sight; otherwise, in.
! this ambitious age, thou shait remain like a
! hop without a pole, live in obscurity, and be
I made a foot fall for every insulting compamo»
i to scorn at.
8. Towards thy superiors fxe humhle, yet
( generous. With thine eqtials familiar, yet
respective. Towards fhi ie inferiors show
' much huma ttv. and some f.imiliarity; as ttf
■ bow the body; stretch forth the hand; and to 1
I uncover the hea I; with such like popular COm-
piimeuts.. The first prepares thy way to ad.
vauceme'nt,—’the second makes thee known
for a man well bred—the third ghinS a gooff
report; which, once got, is easily kept. For’
right humanity takes such deep root in the'
minds ofthe multitude, as they are more easi
ly gained by unprofitable courtesies than by
churlish benefits: Yet 1 advise thee not to af*-
feet or neglect popularity too much. Seek
not to be Essex, shun to be Raleigh.
9. Trust not any man with thy life, ered<