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BY JAMES W. JOYES. The Southern Whig, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. Ti:i:ns. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the lii 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 ad vance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear- i ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, •f 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 o^- Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. Th* sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, six months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. S 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325 Four Months Notices, 4 00 Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters ot Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of small type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement. For a single Insertion, §1 00 per square. 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 poses to make the Whig; while it will contain the mast authentic and important information connected with our foreign and domestic rela pons, the latest commercial intelligence, ori .tiinal articles, and selections from the mos gopular works of the day in the various depart! meats of Agriculture. Literature at d the Arts. To Georgians the undersigned is conscious Le appeals not in vain for an increase of patron agC —and he respectfully asks the friends of constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob tain subscribers. The Southern Whig is published weekly in Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty «*euts if not paid within six months, or Four if not paid until the end ot the vear. 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.