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BY JAMES W. JONES. The Southern Whig, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. terms. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the til st number, or fur dollars if not paid within the year. Sub 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 advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages 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. All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, must be post paid in order to secure attention (gj- Notice ofthe sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or 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 ®f 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 N,e g;oes, 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. 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 always on the watch tower, devoted to a strict construction ofthe true spirit ot the constitution, tire maintainancc of the rights and sovereignty of the States, the retrenchment of executive patronage, reform, and a strict accountability of all public officers; moderate, yet firm and decided in his censures, “nothing extenuate or setdown ought in malice,”- —to expose prompt ly abuses and corruption when and whereevr discovered —such an one the undersigned pro poses to make the Whig; while it will contain the most authentic turns, the latest guild articles, aiidK" ’‘’"*,7’ * popular worksot meats ot To Georgians the u i - he appeals not in,vain for an increase of patron age—-and he respectfully asks the friends ot constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob tain subscribsrs. The Southern Whig is published weekly in Alliens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty j cents if riot paid within six months, or Four if not paid until the cud ot the year. 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<