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BY JAMES W. JOYES.
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PROSPECTUS
OF THE
rjVIIS paper formerly edited by Wm. E.
BL Jones, is now under the direction of the
sndersigned, The growing importance of Ath
ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the
agitation cf certain questions having a direct
influence on southern interests; render it neces
sary that the northwestern part of Georgia
should have some vigilant, faithful sentinel
always on the watch tower, devoted to a strict
construction of the true spirit of the constitution,
the maintainance of the rights and sovereignty
of the States, the retrenchment
patronage, reform, and a st
4>f all public officers; moddjijp .
decided in his censures,
setdown ought in malice,”—to
ly abuses mid corruption when and whereevr
discovered—such an one the undersigned pro
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J. W. J ONES.
PROSPECTUS.
AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank- '
lin College, it was unanimously resolved to 1
fee expedient to make arrangements to issue a
Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called
THE ATHENIAN.
The qndersignea were appointed by the So
ciety a committee of pubheation and joint Edi
tors of the work, until the next meeting of tue
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, oi the
South, have too long depended upon foreign
parts for our 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 Literal are, our interest in the cause
of general Education, all call 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,
WM. L. MITCHELL,
C. F. McCAY,
SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY,
H. HULL.
Tm|E shall issue monthly, on fine
.paper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form,
and s'htdl contain sixty.four pages royal octavo.
Nothing derogatory to religion, offensive to any
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 of the first num
ber.
jldministru tor’s Sale*
AGREEABLE to an order from the Honora,
ble the Inferior Court of the County of!
CMethorpe, when sitting as a Court of Ordinary j
for said County, will be sold, on the first Tues
day in March next, to the highest bidder
before the Court-Louse door in Early Coun
ty, Two hundred and fifty Acres of the first
quality oak and hickory Land, known as No.
.360, in the 4th District of sajd County.—,
Likewise on the first Tuesday of Feb’y. next,
at Carnesville, Franklin County, One hundred
Acres of Land en the waters of Webbs' Creek,
pdjoinipg Garrison at the time of survey..—
Terms on the day of sale.
* A C. M’KINLEY, Adm’r:
Oct. B,—23—tds
FQUR months after date, application will
he made to the Honorable Inferior Court
of Clark pounty, when sitting for Ordinary
purposes, fpr leave to sell all the real estate of
Robert R. °I Stewart county de-
ceased.
ELIZABETH W. BILLUPS, Ex’r,
Nov. ?o—4m,
1 Iyi i|z 11 11 I
J vj .Ji I Xa ’H 'ni I 'Ty \ 'W H iH l n I 'B
WOrO
_ - - - .. ■ ■■. ■-..-.•rfww- .• ,■iiumi.i.i rim i »y.—t i'i ■mn - '..i l ■" w* _ ■
THB LADY TO ril.ll LOVEKS PICTURE.
BY BARRY CORNWALL.
Oh, dark, deep, pictured eyes I
Once more I seek your meaning,—as the skies
Where sought, by wizards, once, from the east
ern towers,
When signs of fate dawned through the nights
bright hours.
Oh, master of my soul, to whom belong
These starry lights of love! thou dost me
wrong—
Thy heart doth wrong me, if it hath not told
That she who loved of old
So deeply, still a awaits thee, —loving yet:
She loves, she watches, —why dost tAou forget!
Upon what pleasant shore or summer waters
Dost thou repose ! Hath Time,
Or the dark witchery of the Indians daughters,
Or some luxurious clime, —
The natural love of change,—or graver thought,
Or new ambition, all my misery wrought"!
Why art thou absent ! Is not all thy toil
Done, on that burning soil!
Are thy dreams unaccomplished! Let them
go '.
She who stood by the once, in want and wo,
And would have dared all dangers, hand in hand
Hath risen ! A maiden peeress of the land,
She woos to behold and share her state,
And be by fortune, as by nature, great.
Still am I young ! but wrinkled Age will Eteal
Upon me unawares, should’st thou delay ;
And Time will kiss these auburn locks to gray ;
And Grief will quench mine eyes: and I shall
feel
That thou canst love me not (all beauty flown,)
And so I shall depart,—and die alone.
And then,—tliou’lt hear no more of one whose
course
Hath been so dark; until too-late remorse,
Half‘wakening love, shall lead thee,some chance
day.
To where the marble bides my mouldering clay,
And there thou’lt read—not haply without pain
The story of her who loved, and lived in vain !
From the Saturday News.
THE PABVESFE,
BY MRS. BAELLSY.
Why do I write my melancholy story? Is
it as a lesson, to prevent any other from wish
ing to rise to rank superior to that in which
thev are born? No! miserable as I am, others
might have been happy, I doubt not, in my po
sition: the chalice has been poisoned for me
alone! Am I evil-minded—am I wicked?
What have been my errors, that I am now an
outcast and a wretch? I will tell my story
let others judge me; my mind is bewildered,
ji*canuot judge myself.
was aland steward to a wealthy
married young, a: d had sev
then lost his w ife, and re
a widower, when he tnar
ried "again a young girt, the daughter of a
clero-yman, who died, leaving a numerous off
spring in extreme poverty. My maternal
Grandfather had been a man of sensibility and
genius; my mother inherited many of his en
dowments. She was an earthly angel; all her
works were charity, all her thoughts were love.
Within a year after her marriage, she gave
birth to twins—l and my sister; soon after she
fell into dl health, and from that time was al
ways weakly. She could endure no fatigue,
and seldom moved from her chair. I see her
now; her white, delicate hands employed m
needlework, her soft, love-lighted eyes fixed
on me. I was still a child when my father
fell into trouble, and we removed from the part
of the country where we had hitherto lived.
and went to a distant village, where we rented
a cottage, with a little land adjoining. We
were poor, and all the family assisted each
other. My elder half-sisters were strong, it),
dustrious, rustic young women, and submitted
to a life of labor with great cheerfulness. My
father held the plough, my half brothers work
ed in the barns, all was toil, yet all seemed en
joyment.
How happy my childhood was! Hand in
hand with my dear twin sister, I plucked the
spring flowers in the hedges, turned the hay in
the summer meadows, shook the apples from
the trees in the autumn, and at all seasons,
gambolled in delicious liberty beneath the free
air of Heaven; or at my mother’s feet, caress
ed by her, I was tausht the sweetest lessons of
charity and love. My eldersisters were kind;
we were all linked by strong affection. The I
delicate, fragile existence of mv mother gave :
an interest to our monotony, while her virtues I
and her refinement threw a grace over our I
homely household.
I and my sister did not seem twins, we were <
so unlike. She was robust, chubby, full <>C
life and spirits; I,tall.slim, fair,and even pale, j
I loved to play with her, but soon grew tired, '
and then I crept to my mother’s side, a m ] s | lt . |
sang me to sleep, and nursed me in her bosom, j
and looked on mo with her own angelic smile. '
She took pains to instruct me, not in accom
plishments. but it) all real knowledge. g| ie
unfolded to me the wonders ofthe visible crea
tion, and to each tale of bird and beast. offi el -y
mountain or vast liver, was appended some
moral, derived from her warm heart and yer- '
dent imagination. Above all, she impressed !
upon me the precepts of the gospel, charity t 0 |
everv fellow creature, the brotherhood of man. |
kind, the rights th t every sentient creature '
possesses to our services alone. I was her
almoner; for, poor as she was, she was the ben.
efactress of those who were poorer. Being
delicate, I helped her in her tusk of
work, while my sister aided the
< household or rustic
When 1 was s .<•*-*•
dent happened.
muiiicated to iJOfIE?' 1
cottage. We j.- J|Br beds at
midnight, and ~ T , aHFour lives.
My father bore JBt ' v .-{»’JBs-‘.rms. and
then tried to suv«BSl. P r,) P er, . v -
The roof of the him. He
o after
crippled for life,
We were all saved, but by a miracle only
was [ preserved. I and niy sister were a woke
by cries offire. The cottage was already en
veloped in flames. Susan, with her acetis
: tomed intrepidity, rushed through the Hames,
and escaped; I thought only of mv mother, and
I’ hurried to her room. The fire raged around
• me; it encircled—hemmed me in. ' I believed
that I must die, when suddenly I felt myself
seized upon and borne away. 1 looked on iny
preserver—it Lord Reginald Desborough-
"WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACI Is IHE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. Jejj'eison.
For manv Sundays past, when at church, I
knew that Lord Reginald’s eyes were fixed
on me. He had met me and Susan in our
walks; he had called at our cottage. There
was fascination in his eye, in his soft vo ce
and earnest gaze, and my heart throbbed with
gladness, as I thought (hat he surely loved me.
To have been saved by him, was to make the
boon of life doubly precious.
There is to me much obscurity in this part
of my story. Lord Reginald loved me, it is
true; why beloved me, so far as to forget pride
of rank and ambition for my sake, he who af
terwards showed no tendency to disregard the
prejudices and habits of rank and wealth, I
cannot tell; it seems strange. He bad loved
me before, but. from the hour that he saved my
life, love grew into an overpowering passion.
He offered us a lodge on his estate to take re
fuge in; and while there, he sent us presents of
game, and still more kindly, fruits and flowers
to rnv mother, and came, himself, especially
uhva ail were out except my mother and my
self, and sat by us and conversed. Soon I
learnt to expect the soft asking look of his
eyes, and almost dared answer it. My mother
once perceived these glances, and took an op
portunity to appeal to Lord Reginald’s good
feelings, not to make me miserable for life, by
implanting an attachment that could only be
productive of unhappiness. His answer was
to ask me in marriage.
I need not say that my mother gratefully
consented —that my father, confined to his bed
since the fire, thanked God with rapture; that
my sisters were transported by delight: 1 was
the least surprised then, though the most hap
py. Now, I wonder much, what could he
see in me 1 So many girls of rank and for
tune were prettier. I was an untaught, low
born. portionless girl. It was very strange.
Then I only thought of the happiness of mar
rying him, of being loved, of passing my iife
with him. My wedding day was fixed. Lord
Reginald had neither father nor mother to in
terfere with his arrangements. He told no
relation; he became one of our family during
the interval. He saw no deficiencies in our
mode of life—in my dress; he was satisfied
with all; lie was tender, assiduous, and kind,
even to my elder sisters; he seemed to adore
my mother, and beeame a brother to my sis
ter Susan. She was in love, and asked him to
intercede to gain her parents’ consent for her
choice. He did so; and though before, Law
rence Cooper, the carpenter of the place, had
been disdajned, supported by him, he was ac
cepted. Lawrence Cooper was young, well
looking. well disposed, and fondly attached to
Susan.
My wedding day came. My mother kissed
me for.dlv, my father blessed me with pride and
joy, my sisters stood round, radiant with delight.
There was but one drawback to the universal
happiness—that immediately on my marriage,
I was to go abroad.
From the church door I stepped into the
carriage. Having once and again been folded
in my dear mother’s embrace, the wheels we ry
in motion, and we were away. I looked q c ‘
from the window; there was the dear gro j /
mv old father, white headed and aged, in iis
large chair, my mother, smiling through her
tears, with folded hands and upraised looks ol
gratitude, anticipiti g long years of happiness
for her grateful fanny; (Susan and Lawrence
standing side by side, unenvious of my great
ness, happy in themselves; my sisters conning
over with pride and joy the presents made to
them, and the prosperity that flowed in from
my husband’s generosity. All looked happy,
and it seemed as if! were the cause of-.ill this
happiness. We had been indeed saved from
dreadful evils; rui i had ensued from the fire,
and we had been sunk in adversity through
that very event from which our good fortune
took its rise. I felt proud and glad. I loved
them all. I thought, L made them happy—
they are prosperous through me! And my
heart warmed with gratitude towards my hus
band at the idea.
We spent two years abroad. It was rather
lonely for me, who had always been surround
ed, as it were, by a populous world of my own,
to find myself cast upon toreiguers and stran
gers; the habits of the different sexes in the
higher ranks so separate them from each other,
that after a few months, 1 spent much of my
time in solitude. I did not. refine; I had been
brought up to look upon the hard visage of
life, if not unflinchingly, at least with resigna
tion. I did not expect perfect happiness.—
Marriagesin humble lite are attended with as
much care. 1 had none of this: my husband ;
loved nie; and though I often longed to see the
dear familiar faces that thronged my child
hood’s borne, and above all, I pined for my
mother’s caresses and her wise maternal les
sons V'’t f°‘ - a time I was content to think off
them, and hope for a reunion, and to acquiesce I
in the present separation.
Still many things pained me : I had, poor '
mvself, been brought up among the poor, and f
codling, since I can remember forming an ,
iden. so much astonished and jarred with my i
feelings as the thought of how the rich could
spend so much on themselves, while a.y one
of th"ir fellow-creaturi s were in destitution.
I had none of the patrician charily (though
such is praiseworthy.) which consists m dis
tribution 1 thin soup and coarse flannel petticoats
a por t of instinct or sentiment, of justice, the
offspring of mv lowly paternal hearth, a d my
mother’s enlightened pi* ty was decpiy implant
ed in mv mind, that all had as good a right to '
the comforts of hie ns myself, or even as my ;
husband. My charities, tin y wore called— (
they scorned to m<* the payment of my debts to |
my follow.creatures —wore übundai.t. Lord i
Reginald peremptorily checked them; but as
il had a large allowance for my own expenses,
I I denied myself a thousand luxuries to which
j it. to me I had no right, for the sake
lof fveiffig the hungry. Nor was it only that
IJiW'vity impelled me, but that I could not ac
for spending money on myself
the apparatus of wealth. My hu
my ideas sordid, and reproved mo
instead of otitshmi-'g all com
petitors at a fete, [ appeared dowdily dressed. |
and declared wa>, u | v t [ lat [ col| ]j n( j t> j wou | ( | ,
not, spend twenty gui ucas on a g 0W!l) w |)i|,. [
could dress so many Kil d faces in smiles, mid
bring so much joy to s« rnail y drooping hearts,
by the same sum.
‘ Was I right? I firmly believe that there is
not one among the rich who will not affirm
that I did wrong; that to please my husband
and do honour to b a rank, w as ln y f lrst dutv.
Yet, shall I confess il ! < ven now, rendered
miserable DV this fault I catitiot give it that
name—l can cal! it a j ssuch to
he consumed at the otake a marty P f OI . ol)e » g
faith. Do not think me presumptuous ; n t ; lis
simile; for many years 1 have wasted at the
slow fire oi knowing that I lost my higsbanil’s
affections because I performed what I bell v.
ed to be a duty.
J Bui lam ;;.<t come to that yet. It was uot
ATHEYS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 11, I >27.
till my return to England that the full disaster
crushed me. We had often been applied t<
for money by my family, and Lord Reginah
had acceeded to nearly all their requests, —
When we reached London after two years
absenee, mV first wish was to see my dem
mother. She was at Margate for her health.
It. was agreed that I should go there alone,ami
pay a short visit. Before I went. Lord Regi
nald told me what I did not know before, that
mv familv had often made exorbitant demands
on him. with which he was resolved not to
comply. He told me that he had no wish to
raise mv relatives from their station in socie
ty; and " that, indeed, there were only two
amon" them whom he conceived had any
claims upon me —my mother and my twin sis
ter; that the former was incapable of any im .
proper request, and the latter, by marrying
Cooper, had fixed her own position, and could
in no wav be raised from the rank of her cho-
I sen husband. I agreed to much that he said.
I replied that he well knew that my own taste
led me to consider mediocrity the best and
h ippiest situation; that I had no wish, and
would never consent, to supply any extrava
gant demands ou il.'o part of persons, however
dear to me, whose circumstances he had ren
dered easy.
i Satisfied with my reply, we parted most
I affectionately, and I went on my way to Mar
| gate with a light mid glad heart; and the cor
i dial reception I received from my whole fami
ly collected together to receive me, was cal
culated to add to my satisfaction. The only
drawback to mv content was my mother’s state;
she was wasted to a shadow. They all talk
ed and laughed around her, but it was evident
to me that she had not long to live.
There was no room for me in the small fur
nished house in which they were all crowded,
so I remained at the hotel. Early in the mor
ning before I was up. mv father visited me.
He begged me to intercede with my husband;
that on tire strength of his support, he had em
barked in a speculation which required a large
capital; that many families would be ruined,
and himself dishonoured, if a few hundreds
were not advanced. I promised to do what I ,
could, resolving to ask my mother’s advice, and
make her my guide. My fat her kissed me with ;
an effusion of gratitude, and left rne.
I cannot enter into the whole ot these sad |
details; all mv half brothers and sisters had
married, and trusted to their success in life to )
Lord Reginald’s assistance. Each evidently |
thought that they asked little in not demanding j
an equal share of my luxuries and fortune; but ;
they were all in difficulty —all needed large as
sistance—all depended on me.
Lastly, my own sister Susan appealed to
me—but hers was the most moderate request
of all—she only wished for twenty pounds.
I gave it her at once from my own purse.
As soon as I saw my mother I explained to
her my difficulties. She told me that she ex
pected this, and that it broke her heart: I must
snm;’ l qi) courage and resist these demands.
I’VJiat my father’s imprudence had ruined him, i
■ uid that he must encounter the evil he had |
brought on himself; that my numerous relatives •
were absolutely mad with the notion ot what I
I ought to do for them. I li. tened with grief "
—I saw t|ie torments in store for me—l felt j
my own weakness, and knew that I could not ;
meet the rapacity of those about me with any I
courage or firmness. That same night my I
mother fell into convulsions; her life was sav
ed with difficulty. From Susiin I learned the
cause of her attack. She had had a violent
altercation with my father; she insisted that I
should not h ■ appealed to; while he r. proached j
her for rend rj g me u idutitid, and bringing
ruin and disgrace on his grey hairs. When I
saw my pale mother trembling, fainting, dying
—when I was again and again assured that
she must be mv father’s victim unless I yield
ed, what wonder that, io the agony of my dis
tress, 1 wrote to my husband to implore his aj- /
sistance.
Oh ! what thick clouds now obscured my ;
destiny! how do I remember, with a sort of
thrilling horror, the boundless sea, white cliff’s, |
and wide sands of Mai gate. The summer day j
that had welcomed my arrival changed to bleak
wintry weather during this interval —while 1
watted with anguish for my husband’s ausw ;r.
Well do I lemeraber the evening on which it
came : the waves ofthe sea showed their white j
crests, no vessel ventured to meet the gale with 5
any canvass except a topsail, the sky was bar- i
ed clear by ’he wind, the sun was going down I
fiery red. 1 looked upon the troubled waters I
—I longed to be borne away upon them, away j
from care and misery. At this moment a ser- ,
vant followed me to ths sands with my hits- I
baud’s answer; it contained a refusal. I dur- |
ed not communicate it. The menaces ol bank- j
I ruptcy; tho knowledge that he had instilled |
I false hopes into so many; the fears of disgrace, (
I rendered my father, always rough, absolutely I
! ferocious. Life flickered in my dear mother’s
[ frame, it seemed on the point of expiring when
i she heard my father’s step; if he came »;i with
j a smooth brow, her pale lips wreathed n.to her
own sweet smile, and a delicate pink tinged |
her fallen cheeks; if lie scowl ■<', and his voice I
was high, everv limb shivered, siie turned her
face to her pillow, while coiivul.- ive tears shook
her frame, and threatened instant dissolution.
Mv father sought me alone one day, as 1 was
walking in melancholy guise upon the sands;
he swore that he would not survive his disgrace.
“And do volt think, Fanny,” he added, “that
your mother will survive the knowledge of my
I inis,-rable end?” 1 saw the resolution of des
' pair in his face as he spoke.— I asked the sum j
i needed, the time when it must be given.—A ]
i thousand pounds in twoduvs was all that was ,
I asked. I set off to London to implore my hus
band to give this sum.
No! no! I cannot step by step record rny
wrotched;ies:i —the money was given—l ex
torted it from Lord Reginald, though I saw his
verv heart closed on me as he wrote the cheque.
Worse had happened since I mul left him.—
Susan had used the t wentty pounds 1 gave her
to reach town, to throw herself at my husband’s
feet, and implore his compassion. Rendered
| absolutely insane by the idea of having a lord
I for a brother-in-law, Cooper had launched into
' a system of extravagance, incredible as it was
! wicked. He was many thousand pounds in
I debt, and i; hen at last Lord Reginald u rote to
i refuse all finth-r supply, the miserable man
I committed forgery. Iwo hundred pounds
j prevented exposure, and preserved him from
|an ignominious end. Five hundred more were
I advanced to send him and his wife to America,
i j to settle there, < nt ol the way of temptation.
; I parted from mv dear sister, I loved her fond
' i ly; she had no part in her husband’s guilt, yet
i j she was still attached to him, and her child
> bound them togetner; they went into solitary,
miserable exile. “Ah! had we remaiued in
) virtuous poverty,” cried mv b^l<en.hearted
• sister, “I had not been forced to leave my dy
ing mother. ’
I The thousand pounds given to my father was'
but a drop of water in the ocean. Again I
was appealed to; again I felt the slender thread
if my mother’s life depended on my getting a
-upply. Again, trembling and miserable, I
implored the charity of my husband.
“ I am content,” he said, “to do what you
isk, to do more than you ask; but remember
'he price you pay—-either give up your parents
n.d your family, whose rapacity and crimes
deserve no mercy, or we part for ever. You
shall have a proper allowance; you can main
min all your family on. it if you please; but
I heir names must never be mentioned to me
again. Choose between us, Fanny—you ne
ver see them more, or we part for ever.
Did I do right—l cannot tell —misery is the
ri SU ]t misery, frightful, endless,unredeemed.
Mv mother was dearer to me than all the world,
—my heart revolted from my husband’s selfish
ness. I did not reply—l rushed to my room,
and that night in a sort of delirium of grief
and horror, at my being never again to
see my mother, I set out for Margate—such
was mv reply to my husband.
Three years have passed since then; for
these three f preserved my mother, and during
| all this time 1 was grateful to heaven for being
i permitted to do my duty by her, and though I
I wept over the alienation of my cruel husband,
I did not repent. But she, my angelic sup
port, is no more. My father survived my mo
ther but two months; remorse for ail he had
done, and made me suffer, cut short his life.—
His family by his first wife arc gathered round
me, they importune, they rob, they destroy me.
Last week I wrote to Lord Reginald. 1 com
municated the death of my parents ; I repre
sented that my position was altered ; that my
duties did not now clash; and that if he still
cared for his unhappy wife, all might be well, I
Yesterday his answer came.—lt was top late, |
he said ;—I had myself torn asunder the ties
that united us, they never could be knit togeth
er again.
By the same post came a letter from Susan.
She is happy. Cooper, profiting by the fright
ful lesson he incurred, awakened to a manly
sense of the duties of life, is thoroughly re
formed. He is industrious, prosperous, and
respectable. Susan asks me to join her. I
am resolved to go. Oh Imy native village,
and recollections of my yonth, to which I sa
crificed so much, where are ye now ? tainted
by pestilence, envenomed by serpents’ stings. I
long to close my eyes on every scene I have
ever viewed. Let me seek a strange land, a
laud where a grave wiii soon be opened f.r
me. I feel that I cannot live long —J desire
to die. Im told that Lord Reginald loves an
other, a highborn girl; that he openly curses
our union as the obstacle to his happiness.—
The memory ot this will poison the oblivion I
go to seek in a distant land. —He w ill be free.
Soon will the hand he once so fondly took in
his and made his own, which, now flung away,
trembles with misery as it traces these lines,
moulder in its last decay.
TO A LADY HEADING.
BY HENRY F. CHORLEY.
I What, lonely still ? and bending o’er the page
i Thine heart, if not thine eyes,—dear dreamer,
say,
; Where, led by bard inspired, or calmer sage,
j Do thy young virgin thoughts, soft triflers,
stray ?
Hark! music sounds, and feet are on the floor;
Come forth, thy flatterers wait thee, —read no
more ?
I Is it Romance that with her spells hath clouded
That gentle brow, made grave that laughing
eye,
Whilst thou, in sweet bewildering fancies
shrouded,
Wandcrest through lands of gorgeous mystery ?
Wake, and return! there’s folly in her lore,
1 The wise world laughs at fables—read no
more !
! Or is it a tale of some proud lip and cheek;
Worshipped of old, to-day, alas! forgot?
' And thou, a shrine whom Beauty’s pilgrims
seek,
Now shrinkest sadly from the common lot?
Fear not hoar Time—too well shall Art restore
Dull cheeks and silvered tresses—read no more!
: Come, wreathe thy hair with roses, o’er thy
heart—
What boots its aching ?—clasp a jewelled
zone ;
i And learn to laugh when burning tears would
start ;
j To move mid crowds most gaily, when alone
i Thou pinest to sigh—and learn to hide thy
store
Os rich, bright, "useZess thought for evermore !
So shalt thou have the mightiest at thy feet,
Kings at thine ear, and nobles at thy caff ;
Nor hand shall write, nor echo dare repeat
The envious whisper, “Tis but mockery all!”
I Still dost thou dream unheeping, and unwon
| By the world’s lure—True heart! then read—
read on!
From the Knickcrboclicr.
The Fa-iiv;»tcer.
It was one of those beautiful days which all
who navigate the ocean have often experienced
within the tropics. The sun had just risen
sparkling with freshness from his watery bed,
! and was slowly wheeling through a host of
j gorgeous clouds, that floated majestically along
the horizon ; an ’invigorating influence per
vaded the scene, and a fine breeze that came
sweeping across the sea, promised to preserve
the balmy and delicious temperature that the
cooling dews of the previous night had im
parted to the atmosphere.
That particular part ofthe Carribean Sea to
which we would direct the reader’s attention
was on the day described, enlivened by the ap
pearance of a fleet of vessels of war, in hot pur
suit of a small clipper brig, which held the ad
vance about the distance of about five miles.
This body of ships comprised apart qf the
British West India Squadron and had been
dispatched by the admiral of that station to
Halifax, in order to render more efficient pro
tection to their possessions and commerce in
that quarter as the depredations of the Ameri
can privateers were daily becoming more bold
and frequent. This squadron had been sailing
in close order during the night but at the time
our scene opens, it had been broken, in conse
quence ofthe commodore throwing out signal
to make sail, and endeavor to come up with
the chase. Each ship of the fleet, therefore,
in accordance with the order made all sail;
the swifter vessels were ranging ahead, while
the duller sailers were observed dropping astern
»nd taking their stations in the rear. The ship
of the commander of the squadron, a frigate ot
the first class, held her place in about the cen
tre c.f the fleet; three heavy corvetts brought
up the rear, while the advance was maintained
by a body of smaller vessels. A beautiful
e ghteen gun brig, that had that rnorui .g form
ed one oi the rear line, now led the extreme
van. She had passed every vessel of the squad
ron successfully, and was now graduaf/y drop
ping them with a speed that held out everv
prospect of overhauling the chase. The wi..d
was right aft, and each ship had her studding
sails out on either side. Piles of dark canvas
rose above the dark halls that loomed dimlv
beneath them, and the surface of the sea seem
ed one vast expanse of snowy pyramids. Leav
ing the squadron to make the best of their wav,
the reader r-inst imagine himself upon the quar
ter deck of the little brig, upon whose capture
they were a l so eagerly bent.
A single glance at her arrangements, and
those who conducted them, would bespeak her
apnvateer; indeed, where that good looking
j fellow, who nas just laid down the trumpet and
i taken up the spy glass, attired in uniform, the
brig might, to easily mistaken for a national
vessel. She differs from one in no other par
ticular. Six beautiful long gu is protrude fr >m
either side, while a heavier one resolves in a
circle a midships. The decks tell tales ofholv
stone and sand, and the neatness every where
apparent, indicates the reign of discipline. A
row of bright boarding-pikes are confined to
the main boom by gaskets of white line, while
a quantity of cu'lassesand battle axesg ittered
on the beckets, that ara fixed purposely for
their reception in the intermediate spaces of
the battery. Rucks of round shot frown from
b meath each gun carriage, and boxes of grape
and canister, with an attendant match-nib are
I arranged at regular intervals along the deck.
I Every belaying pin is bright, and the brass
work of the wheel and binnacles show in ele
gant and rich contrast with the mahogany of
which they are constructed. Ai d mark th<
gay, healthy frontispiece of the sturdy tars
who line the decks—a noble set of fellows
who tr echo their sentiments would go to the
very devil for their officers. Observe that ve
teran how respectfully he touched his hat. as
the Commander ascended from the cabin, and
what an elegant looking man is Captain Bu it
line—so tall, and yet so graceful —so majestic,
and yet so prepossessi ig. I like these black
whiskers; they set off his complexion to admi
ration. His countenance, it is true, is some
what stern, but it is not a repulsive expression ;
it savors more of dignity; and that jet black
eye!—mark how it flashes, as he sends his
gaze aloft to ascertain if all there i§ right.—
See!—he is addressing the young man with
the glass, who is his first lieutenant, and, at
present officer of the deck. He smiles ; did
you ever see a man’s countenance undergo so
complete a change ? Ail the sternness has
vanished, and his features are beautifully ani
mated.
“Do we leave them, Mr, Trennel? Those
rearmost ships appear to be hull down.”
‘‘Yessir, they are poor sailers,” answered
the lieutenant; bit there’s a brig among’em
that has been overhauling us since sunrise.—
The fellow moves along like a witch : Ive been
watching him for the last hour, and have see
him pass every vessel in the squadron : another
hour, and the varmint will be pitching his old
iron into us.”
“ Let him come on!” rejoined the comman
der, eying the object of this colloquy through
the telescope, “we could ma ch with two of
them : but you are correct; the villain is com
i g down, wing. ai;d. wing, and gaining each
I moment upon us.—He must be hungry for a
fight.
I “Yes.” rejoined the other ;“I expect her
; skipper has been reading the Life of Nelson,
I and feels an inclination to immortalize himself.
I He will be less eager, however, before we get
I through with him.”
“ I did not ’hi k that there was ary thing
I in his Majesty’s service that could show the
Rover her stern before,” remarked Captai i
Buntline,
“ Our copper wants cleaning,” rejoined th
lieutenant,* 1 and our sails are old, and hold o
more wind than so much bobbinet: besides,
s r, I think that fellow is Baltimore buiit—some
slaver they’ve caught on the coast of Guinea
—or perha; s some unfortunate devil of a pri
viteer; those ten gun channel-gropers don’t
run the line off’the reel at that rate, in such a
catspaw as this.”
“ Here, Bobstay,’’ said the commander to
an old quarter master, “take the glass, and see
what you can make of that fellow.” The vet
eran divested his mouth of a huge chew ofto.
bacco, and hitching up histrowsers, commenc
ed scanning th t Englishman with an eve pro
verbial for its acut‘iiess and experience.
“ I'hat ’are is a mob-tower, sir, as the lev
tenant says, and coming down with a big bone
in her mouth, too.”
“ Why are you positive about her being a
Baltimore built, Bubst.iy ?” ask l d the com
mander,
“ Because, sir,” answered the tar, “ there’s
no end to the sticks them fellows put in their
crafts; and besides, if ye’ii obsarve, she han’t
half the beam of them ten-gun tubs ; her yards
are squarer too, and she’s no reach to her
sails.”
“Aour observations are conclusive, Bob
stay. said the commander ; “ but can we serve
her out, think you ?”
The old tar smiled at the question, and re
plenishing his m.outh with a foot or two of pig
tail, replied:
“ Ay, sir, two such fellows, and two more in
thirty minutes afterwards.”
“Go to your dutv,” said the commander,
good humoredlv ; “you’ve turned boaster, in
your old days.”
At meridian, the English brig was some six
or seven miles in advance ofthe headmost ship
ofthe squadron, and not more than two in the
rear of the chase. Although Captain Bu it
line had determined on fighting her, he still
continued under a press of sail, tor the purpose
of drawing his adversaiy at such a distance
from the main body as to preclude the possi
bility of their interference m the engagement.
Alioth r hour, ho vever, brought the English
man within gun-shot; and, determined to se
cure everv advantage of circumstances, he put
his helm down and bringing his battery to bear,
fired a broadside into the still retreating Rover.
It was not until that moment, that Buntline
could ascertain the force of his antogouist: but
a single glance, previous to her filling away,
convinced him of her superiority.
“Take in the light sails, and haul up the
courses!” said the commander ofthe privateer;
and another moment beheld the gallant brig
moving along under her two top-sails.
“ Beat to quarters, and open the magazine !”
“ Ay, ay, sir,” was the reply; and the loud
roll of the drum was heard summoning every
man from the depths and heights of the vessel
to their respective stations. In a few moments
he order to cast loose the guns followed, and
Vol. IV—Ao. 41.
( v.iry man commenc'd getting the iron ma
chines ready for the work of death, with ml
alacrity ai d good humor peculiar to a sailor,,
and with an expedition and regularity that
was the r: suit of much previou t experience in
lik - matters. The tompions were taken out—
the train a id side tackles cut adrift—the pumpa
rigged and the decks scanded, ’fore and aft, to
prevent lhem from becoming slippery with
blood, cutlasses, pistols, a d bogrding pjken
were placed in convenient situations about th®
decks; the ports were triced up. the hate bus
closed, with the exception of a small opening,
left for the purpose of passing powder from
below ; the loggerheads wen; heated, matches,
burned h side every gun, and in short every
preparation was made that such cases rend&r
expedient.
I he E glishtnan had not yet taken in any of
his canvas, a id was cons -quenlly rapidly near
ing ihe Rover. It was the mutual desire of
the commanders, th t their vessels should be
briiw'iht i to cl ’So action—the Englishman,
from a wish to decide the contest before the
squadron could b 1 close e ough to assist, and
thereby rob him of his anticipated glory, and
the American, from a k lowlcdge that his es.
cape depended upon his success in disabling
the only vessel in th- fleet, that was his supe
rior in sailing. Al length but a quarter ofa
mile intervened between the ships; and the
Briton commenced handing his light sails
studdingsnils, royals, and courses, were suc
cessively taken in, and the pursuer appeared
under nearly the same canvass as the chase.
“ Starboard!” shouted Bu itlme to the man
at the wheel, as he b held the bows »f his ad
versary sweep gracefully to port.
“ Starboard, sir,” answered theqiiarter.mas.
ter, and the Rover’s broadside was brought
parallel to that of the E iglishrpan, while at the
same time the stars and stripes ascended with
a graceful flutter to her main peak. 4 volume
of smoke and flame burst from the bulwarks of
the Briton and his iron crash -d fl;arfblly thro*
the spars and rig ri g of the privateer. AL
though Captain Bunthne’s manoeuvre prevent
ed the vessel from bei ig raked by nis adver
sary's’ heavy fire, it could not avert its entire
destruction ; and to his sorrow he beheld his
main-mast, with its attendant spars, go by the
board. A deep shade settled upon his brow at
this unexpected calamity, and the blank of doubt
and uncertainty grew upon his features. The
success of the Englishman’s broadside had
completely destroyed his plan of operation, and
he stood upon the quarter-deck of his crippled
ship in painful reflection as to his future course.
This susp nse was but momentary; a thought
dawned upon his mind—and applying the trum
pet to his mouth, he gave the order to the im
patient seamen not to fire, but to be ready for
making more sail. “ Leave your
men,” said he, “ put your helm up, Bobstay—
man the fore tack and sheets—lay aloft, top.
men, and clear the wreck. Stir yourselves,
my hvelies! —stand by to set both fore-topmast
studding-sails.”
The sudden and unlooked for change in the
state ofaffiirs surprised, but did not disconcert
the crew, so great was the confidence they re.
posed in him and they spr-mg forward to exe
cute his orders with an a'a riiv that was itself,
u der such circumstances, a proud eulogiurn
upon the bravery and judgement of their com.
mander. The brig was again put be'are the
wind, more canvas was spread along the booms,
and the Rover once more resumed the course
she had steered during the morning. A wjld
and exulting l huzza came down from the Eng
lishman, as h r antagonist filled away a id made
sail without firing a gun ; but the scornful smile
that curled the lips of Bnntline, indicated too
well the deception of appearances, and impart
ed a stronger confidence in the breasts of'.iia
seamen. His character for bravery was too
; well established to be doubted by them, and
I they only stood impatient to hear ttie next or
; der that should issue from his trumpet.
I “I he dogs sha'l have less cause for merri
. merit before nightfall,” muttered Buntline, as
'■ another shall came down from the Englishman,
I who had also tilled away, and was now crowd,
iog all sail in chase. “ Muster aft here, my
men. every oae of you ; co ■ e down from aloft,
and up from below; bo’son’s mate, scud 'ho
people aft.”
“My lads,’ said Buntline, addressing his
hundred bold followers. “ it is fit that you should
be acquai ited with the fact of my being tho
- bearer ofa message from the French Admiral
oi the West India statio , to the govermneul
of the United States, which, my men, is of vital
importance to the int rest of our country. * I
do not t II you this to stimulate you to any great
er exertio , but merely as a recipr cation of
that confidence which I am proud to b> jieve
you repose in me. I know you will stand by
me to the last—l have tested it In the pre
sent disabled state of the Rover, it will be im.
possible for you to escape from yonder squad,
ron, now rapidly overhauling us ; but, my lads,
I have a plan to propose the successful execu
tion of which will crown us with glory and
success. Listen to it.”
I he plan was then revealed, and when Bunt.
!i ie had done speaking, three hearty cheera
evinced the readiness with which the crew en.
tered into it.
1 Me .’ resumed Bu tlino, ‘the signal will bo
Liberty! and when I give it forth, let eve.
ry one of you do as 1 Lave directed, now, my
lads, don’t forget the word Liberty!'
Groips of men were seen spiking the can.
non lore and aft, so as to reader them perfect,
ly useless. Tim musk- ts w-re all thrown
overboard, and ihe powdir with the exception
of what each man carried with him, totally
destroyed; this done, the crew armed them
selves, and mustering aft, awaited the further
orders ol their coujni.uidFr.
In the mean tirn , the Englishman was ra.
pidly advancing, with th ■ intention ofcarrvin-r
the American by boarding. He was not ten
yards astern, a id at every moment gaining on
the Rover. Buntline stood watching him as
th ■ tiger does his prey, scarcely breathing in
the intensity of his interest, and awaiting with
a pai ful suspense the moment when he might
put his daring scheme in operation, The
whistle of the bo’smi’s mate was heard on board
ofthe Englishman, and the cry of“ Away they®
boarders away !” told their opponents how to
expect them. Buntline cast a quick and anx
ions glance upon his own seamen, who stood
grasping their cutlasses with an emotion as in.
terse as his own. It was a moment of fearful
excitement on board of either vessel, during
which nothing was heard but the ripple ofthe
water as they sped along. At le .gth the dark
shadow of the Briton’s canvass fell upon the
deck ofthe Rover ; another minute, and they
were yard-arm and yard-arm.
“ Sheer to !” whispered Buntline to the man
at the wheel—“ sheer to !” The bows of the
privateer slightly deviated, and her antagonist
was wtthm three yards of her. Clank went
the grap: cis on the Englishman, and both vea«
sals were brought broadstdq and broadside.