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BY JAMES W. JOAES. The Southern Whig?, yff ltlblSO EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TEKMS. . . Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fn st number, or four 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 forless than one year, unless the money is paid in ad vance; 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 mini!, a setteincnt 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 ! Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty dai s previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters 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, (49 days) 8 2-u 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 of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of sin’Jl type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50cents 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 rsviu paper formerly edited by Win. E, IL Jones, is now under the direction of the undersigned. Thegrowingimportur.ee of Ath ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the agitation of 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 J always on the watch tower, devoted to a strict j construction of the true spirit ofthe constitution, the maintainance ofihe rightsand sovereignty *»f the States, the retrenchment of executive patronage, reform, and a strict accountability es all public uliicers; ißodtiatejjvi G«<>< > decided in his censures, “nothing extenuate or ( setdown ought in malice,” —to expose prompt- | ly abuses and corruption when and whereevr I discovered —such an one the undersigned pro- ■ doses to make the Whig; while it will contain the most authentic and important inturnmtion connected with our foreign and domestic nfla pons, the latest commercial intelligence, ori tiinal articles, and selections from the mos gopular works of the day in the various departl | merits of Agriculture. Literature ai d the Arts, j To Georgians the undersigned is conscious I appeals not in vain for an increase of patron- ( age— and he respectfully asks the friends of ' constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob- ' tain subscribers. The Southern Whig is published weekly in I Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum > payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty i 'tents if not paid within six months, or Four ■ if not paid until the end of the year. J. W. JONES. PROSPECTUS. AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank, lin College, it was unanimously resolved to I be expedient to make arrangements to issue n j Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called THE ATHENIAN. The undersigned were appointed by the So- j ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi- I tors of the work, until the next meeting of tue 1 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, of the South, have too long depended upon foreign I parts for our Literature, and neglected our own j talents. We shall be weak so long as we think . we are weak: and dependent until we make es- I forts to be independent. We hope all the friends j of Literature in the State, and especially the Alumni of Franklin College, will patronize the I enterprise both by word and deed. State pride 1 the love of Literal ire, 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 JACKSUN, R. D. MOORE, WM. L. MITCHELL, C. F. McCAY, SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY, 11. HULL. The Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine paper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form, und shall 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. ’FIN HE undersigned has settled in Macon with A the view ol practicing LAW—He will at tend the courts of the adjoining counties, and may'be found by application at the office of .Messrs. Poe Ac Nisbet for the present—His Office, not quite complete, is on the second floor of the New Commercial Bank. In winding up my business in the Ocmulgce circuit, I have associated with me Augustus Reese, Esq. of Madison. Our joint attention will be applied to that object. E. A. NISBET. Mncoa, January 28—39—,]5t. Ihe Southern Recorder, Chronic.jc and Sentinel, and Whig, will publish the above weekly until the first of May. tNOUR months afterdate, application will be made to the Honorable Inferior Court of Madison county, when sitting for Ordinary pur poses, for leave to sell the real Estate of Robeit Williams, Sen’r. late of sail County deceased DAWSON WILLIAMS, Adm’r. ' Feb. 25,-43 —Im Southern Whig POBTB.T. From the Philadelphia Saturday Chionicle. THE DESTIN Y OF JIAN. BY GRENVILLE MELLEN. I. Strange Destinies ofEarth ! —as in a glass, Each to the other link’d, in dim array, With all your marvels have I seen ye pass, Along your glad or melancholy way ; I’ve heard your legends, as I musing sate In my rude attic ’neath the pallid stars, List’ning the night out to some tale of bate, ’Till morning broke upon my lattice bars, And with intruding eye the glary day, Warn’d back the mustering dreams I had no power to stay, 11. And I would tell the tale.—The varied voice j In which it fell upon my tranced ear, Calling my leaping spirit to rejoice, Or yield th’ unconscious tribute of a tear, Comes on my lifting memory with a power Os once enchanting music, when it breaks Anew in the dear caden c ot that hour That woks its melody—a*d aq it wakes, New tones of magic sound I seem to heat, And on my startled sol.tude new shapes ap- ■ pear! 111. I thought, as I looked out upon the night, Studded with glories, from my soaring tower, A shadowy band was gathering on my sight, And a new beauty stole upon the hour. The city slumber'd ’neath me —and the roar Os its unnumber’d tongues was hush <1 in sleep— A silence brooded round unfelt before, With luster crown’d—and eloquently deep Avision was upon me—and the train Os the dim Passion spirits cross'd my busy brain ! IV. I listen'd—and each Genius of the throng, Fill’d with his feeling of divinity, Rehears'd some story in a wildering song, While inspiration started from his eye— Some story of his power on martyr man, To lure his heart to suffering or delight; With varied ca’dence through the tale he ran- Recital of his mystery or might, Since first he drew commission from the sky, The fated child of Destiny to tempt and try. V. And, as the echo of each Spirit’s tale Died on my thrilling ear, I thought how strange The fate of man since forth from Eden’s vale He mur’d with broad creation for his range. How strange his lot I —how deep the mystery I Yeats of relentless trial of his doom, With that unchanging sentence —thou shalt die ! ; Kinging from life’s bright portal to the tomb : j | Yet, proud as if this place of Dust should be ! The arena of his battling for Eternity ! mu— w sr.-.in—i nrw— l n i———- A Fenaale Duelist. The Duchess d’Abrantes is publishing iu j parts, the “Lives and Portraits of celebrated i Women,” from which wc make a selection j never before seen in this country. It is an ac ! count of one Doanai Catalina de Eranso, Nut. i ensign, who seems rather a fiend than a “cele brated woman.” The adventures of the Nun ensign—so called from her habiting herself in ' the military uniform—are so curious as to par ! take of the appearance of romance; though it j is stated that the documents which prove her i existence and extraordinary adventures are I numerous and authentic. This strange being j was, it appears, born at Sebastian, in 1785. I Nl’c was compelled to take the veil, but made I her escape from the convent, and, having as i sumed male attiie for the purpose of avoiding j capture, her real sex was not discovered till j the lapse of many years, during which she fought with great bravery as a soldier in the j New World, and was promoted to the rank of I Ensign. Iler violent temper led her into ma. I ny scrapes, and she committed several murders ; —but ultimately obtained her pardon both from [ King and Pope, and diedin obscurity. From ! the history of this daring Amazon, we extract j the following murder and duel— The Nun ensign loved play with a sort of i frenzy ; and the violence of het temper ren dered her disgusting to those who only sought ■ amusement in it. She was therefore dreaded i in the gaming house, which she always made j a point of visiting whenever she arrived in a town in which any existed. One day after her return to La Conception she was loosing. A dispute arose about a throw; the banker wanted to speak, but she ordered him to be si lent. He replied in a word so insulting that Catalina became frantic with rage.—“Darc to repeat that word,” said she. The unhappy man did so, and had scarcely uttered it ere I Catalina’s sword was buried in his heart. At his moment a young and noble Castilian, Don Francisco I’araga, auditor general of Chili, en tered the room. With the authority of his 1 rank and office, he ordered the ensign to leave ; the house. Catalina cast a glance of bitter I 1 contempt at him, and made no other reply than ; to draw her dagger—her sword still recking , j with the blood of the unfortunate banker. ■ ' Don I'rancisco rqieated his order in a louder > I and more commanding voice, and at tlie same | time seized Catalina by the upper part of her ' | doublet, in order to c .force As she felt his hand touch ,riie for a moment became an irdigtvJ^^ , .^|K ! i• but || le stern and cruel soldier sjg'r’*- • the out. 1 raged female.- Tn, she stub bed Don Francisco in tlnJ ' : r her dagger j. | penetrated through his ks. Then i brandishing her sword and and cast- • ing a. terrible look around the room, she sprunn upon the stairs and disappeared before the ter i rifled spectators could summon resolution k 1 ’ stop her. 1 But though Catalina had succeeded in get- I ting out of the house, she knew that the ven j gcncc of the man she had wounded would be I | dreadful.—She fully understood her situation, ; i and the moment her fury was appeased, per ceived the full extent ot' the danger she ha I brought, upon herself. There was only one \ triode of averting it: that was to seek th?.sane ' tuary of the cathedral, and thence retire to the adjoining convent of San Francisco. She had scarcely reached her asylum, wlien the gover nor arrived, surrounded by his soldiers—and Catalina was blockided six months. It seem- - —~ - - - *- “WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. Jefferson, ed no doubt singular to her—but to her alone; who knew herself to be an apostate nun—that she should be thus besieged in a monastery, not for violation ofher first vows, but for hav ing killed two men with her woman’s hand and her tiger’s heart. She had a friend in her regiment, Don Juan de Silva, ensign of another company. One i day he came to see her; she was walking a- j lone, and sad under the gloomy arcades of the I church, uttering blasphemies against the se- j elusion which was becoming insupportable to j her. Don Ju?n had just had a quarrel of so serious a nature, that the satisfaction he re quired could not be deferred till to morrow, but was to have been given at 11 o’clock the same night. On the rising of the moon, the two adversaries were to meet in a wood at a : short distance- from the ramparts. “But I ; have no second,” said Don Juan, “and t nm I | come to request you will perform that office I forme.” The nun started at the appeal: this I confidence in her courage sent a tin ill thro’l her heart. But a cloud suddenly passed her j brow—a thought had come between her and ' her friend —she frowned as she looked at Don I 1 Juan with suspicion—she thought he wanted to betray her. “Why fight beyond the walls, and at such an hour?” said she, fixing upon his counten ance those eyes which always sparkled with a flame of the darkest ferocity. Don Juan made ino reply. From her look, and tone of her voice, he had guessed her suspicions. “Alonzo!” he said at length, “since you re fuse your services, 1 will go unattended; for 1 have confidence in no one but you.” ‘■l will go; I will attend you!” cried Catali na ; The clock of the convent had just struck ten, when Don Juan came to fetch her. Both were Wrapped in large brown Capas, Under which th n y carried their swords, whilst the sombrero concealed their faces. “These precautions would bo more neces sary at anv other time,” observed Catalina, as they both continually stumbled from the darkness of the night. Tho moon had not yet risen; the sky was overcast, the weather stormy, and not a star to be seen. They found Don Juan’s adversary, with his second, waiting for them. He who was to fight with Don Juan was a knight of St. Jago, named Don Francisco de Rojas. The moment he perceived them coming, he advanced to the skirt of the wood, took off his coat and sombrero, and addressing Don Juan, observed, that al! reconciliation between them being impossible, they had belter not wasto in useless words, the time which might be more advantageously employed in the work of ven geance. Don Juan bowed iu silent acquies cence, drew his sword and the combat began. Meanwhile, the two seconds on the skirt of the wood, and close to the combatants, took care of the capaa and sombreros, concealing, however, their faces from each other, which Catalina seemed most anxious to do. They would, perhaps, have quitted each other with- f out recognition, had not Catalina, on seeing Don Juan receive a wound and stagger, cried out. “That was the blow of a base and COW. I ardly traitor!” ‘•Thou licst!” replied the second of Don Francisco de Rojas. Catalina approached the stranger with her dagger in her hand ; in an instant, two blades i of steel sparkled in the shade ; and the silence j of the forest, which had been interrupted by the strife of the two principals only, broken in upon by a deadly combat, arising from no oth er cause than the insatiable thirst of a woman for blood. Scarcely were the hostile weapons | opposed to each other, ere Don Francisco’s I friend fell, mortally wounded. He asked fora I priest. O.i healing the agonized cry of her I victim, Catalina’s heart became vulnerable for : the first time. She thought she knew the voice; I and, leaning over the dying man, she recog- I nized, by the uncertain light of the moon. I which had just arisen, features which struck ’ her with horror and remorse. . ’ “Who are youthen?” she asked, as if re-| proaching her victim with the crime she had I just committed ‘‘Captain Michael de Erasno,” replied the | dyi' g man. The unhappy woman had killed her brother. I From the N. F. Herald. ‘•Truth is strange—stranger than fiction.” Belvidera in New York.— This hticknied I aphorism of Byron’s is confirmed, by the al most daily occurrences which take place, in common life around us; anfl were the feelings of the actors in these every day scenes analyz , ed mid known, they would furnish prolific sub jects fur the novel writer, and the dramatist. We were led into these reflections, by an I I event which happened to us the other day in 'one of our morning walks. | Passing along one of the most fashionable streets, iu the upper part of the city, our atten tion was attracted to an auction, going on in one of the noble looking mansions, which there abound. The superior elegance of every thing ’ about the house, excited our curiosity ; and, > ascending the marble steps, wc passed through the open door into the hail. Piles of magnificent furniture were visible t on every side; rich carpels, polished tables, and side boards, and elegant chans, were heap ed in wi'd confusion around. ’ j There is always something inelai.choly in the disorder attending asale of this description; this violent invasion of the sanctuary of the Penates, is painful, even in ordinary cases: 1 but here it is evident that misfortune, and not ' caprice was the cause ofihe confusion. The agents of the knight of the hammer were scattered through the rooms watching with lynx-eyd vigilance, the disposal ofihe articles. “ Here stood a villain with a horrid face Lording it o'er a heap of massy plate.” Wc beg the respectable gentleman’s pardon, who had charge ofthis department ; but when •i we learned the story ofihe unfortunate master i | of the mansion, we were involuntarily remind . ! ed ot' the quotatian. I ) '1 w.. months ago, Mr. —• —introduced to this . | abode ot elegance and ease, a fair and blooni- ■ ing bride. All that could embellish and sweet ’ en the cup of life, was here assembled for her - I acceptance. Wealth, to gratify every wish of . j her heart, and taste to direct the disposal of j I that wealth, seemed to be the lot of the beau , tiful Belvidera. Surely there can be no state of existence, I bi tter deserving the epithet of Paradise, that ol ea young, handsome, and mutually attached cou . pie, passing the hoiicymoon under such auspi n ] ces. And yet the second moon, of that bea'.ic 1 [ period, “had scarce filler! her horns,” when . i this bright prospect, fike the shifting sceße ot d 'some Gciniiiu Melo drama, was changed to . j cite of misery, and uaut, and woe ; AT3IUAS, «EOR«IA, SATURDAY, MAY SO, 8 837. One morning, about two weeks buck, after parting with reluctance from his lovely wife, the happy bridegroom proceeded with a light heart to his usual business in wall-street. As we stood in one of the splendid, but now dismantled saloons, we pictured to ourselves j the parting of the married lovers on that event \ ful morn. ; Breakfast, the most exhilarating of meals, I is just concluded, numberless elegant trifles | delighting the eye are scattered around, the ) bright fire blazes on the hearth, but its presence I is more conducive to cheerfulness, than ne cessary for heat, and to temper its effects, the French casement window is partly thrown open, admitting the soft spring breeze, bearing | on its wings the perfume of the flowers in th ■ I balcony. The “ Herald,” whose racy columns i I have won many a smile from her ruby lips, has j [just been laid down, and with a glance more' I eloquent than words, and a lingering grasp of I her little soft, white, ring-laden fingers, the I happy young merchant tears himself away. He had not been an hour in Wall street be fore he knew himself to be a ruined man ! ab ! solutely a beggar! The suddenness of the blow, had for a time a stunning effect upon his faculties, but still amid the chaos of bis thoughts one idea was ever recurring to him. “ M.y wife! my wife !’’ How could he break to her the dreadful news, which was to dash from her lips the cup of joy and happiness and consign hel 1 to indigence and want, an . worse than all, to the pity of the heartless crowd. He could not do it. But he mist meet her at dinner, there was no avoiding that. He prolonged the dreaded interview till tlio last moment, and then with a countenance schooled into calm ness and a heart almost bursting with despair, j he bent his steps towards home—home that would soon cease to be his. He resolved to j keep the secret to himself, to enjoy one more ! happy day, and then—who can tell the dark j and desperate thoughts, suggestions of the “bu j sy meddling fiend” which rush on the mind at j such a moment. But he knew not, none can I know the depth and strength of a woman’s, of a wife’s affection, until it has been tried. M hen he entered his doomed roof, with a brain al most maddened by painful efforts to dissimu lation, he was met on the threshold by her, the object of all his solicitude, pale indeed, but calm and soberly cheerlul. “Dearest .” taking his hand and pressing it to her lips, “I know all, be comforted, all may yet. be well !” What a relief! what a revulsion in his feelings did that short speech create ! A weight was taken from hits tuiiiil, to which even the heavy loss of fortune seemed light. To meet with comfort where he despaired of being able to administer it; encouragement from a source whence he expected pimngs, if not reproaches! “ Oh woman ! in the hour of ease, Uncertain coy, and hard to please ; When pain and sickness wring the brow A ministering Angel thou I” The sudden reaction produced a feeling al most of merriment in his mood. lie felt in-i I chned to exclaim with Jaffer, “ I thank the Gods, I’m now not worth a ducat, Yet still lam in love; and pleased with ruin.” This was the tale to which we listened in j the deserted halls of departed gaiety, amid the I dm and chatter of the thoughtless crowd, drawn | . together like vultures to the scene of ruin, tos- | I sing about with rough and careless hands, the I delicate ornaments of the boudoir. Even the sacred nuptial couch, “ The very bed which witnessed their chaste joys,” was made the subject of coarse jests, and vul- I gar witticisms. And by what malign influence ; was this sad reverse effected. What evil gen ! ius ofthe magic lamp, had chmged these beau- I tiful bright blossoms of love rin I happiness, to j the black and bitter ashes of bankruptcy and ') I ruin ? The mad spirit of speculation. This I i was but one example ofthe thousand victims j I that have been, and are to be sacrificed at its : I unholy shrine. j ” ■■ • i From Trai elt in Arabia, Egypt, and the Holy \ Laud. I _ A Ruined Ciiy. BY AN AMERICAN. Petra, the excavated city, the loiTg-lost capi- I tol of Edom, in the scriptures and profane wri | tings, in every language in which its name occurs, signifies a rock, and through the shad- j I ows of its early history, wc learn that its in- ; habitants lived tn natural clefts or excavations I made in the solid rock. Desolate as it now ; is, we have reason to believe that it goes back I to the time of Esau, the ‘ father of Edom :’ that j princes ai d dukes, eight successive kings, and again a long line of dukes, dwelt there before | any king ‘reigned in Israel;’ and wo rec >g i nize it fiom the earliest, ages .as the centra! | point to winch came the caravans from the in- I terior of Arabia, Persia, and India, laden with I i all the precious commodities ofthe East, and I j from which these commodities v ere distribu- j ted through Egypt, Palestine, and Syria ; and i j all the countries bordering on the M« diterra-! i nean, even Tyre and Sidon, deriving their p ir- I I pie and dyes from Petra. Eight hundred years | I before Chr st, Amaziah, the King of Judea, ; “slew of Edom, in the valley of Salt, ten thou- j I sand, and took Selah (the Hebrew name of j Petra) by war.” Three hundred years after j I the lust of the prophets, and nearly a century before the Christian era, the “Kingot Arabia” I issued from his palace at Petra, at the head of | fifty thousand tneu, horse and foot, entered Je- | rti.sa.lein, and uniting with the Jews, pressed the siege of the temple, which was only raised | by the advance of the Romans ; and in the j beginning of the secund century, though its independence was lost, Petra was still the capi tal of a Roman province. 4t'ter that time it rapidly declined ; its history became more ob. scure ; formore than a thousand years it was completely lost to the civilized world ; and m til 1 its discovery by Burckhard in 1812, except to I the wandering Bedouins its very site was ' i * unknown. And this was the city at whose door I now ' stood. Ina few words, this ancient and ex- ' traordinary city is situated within a natural amphitheatre ot two or three miles in circum- i fereuce, encompassed oh all sides by rugged j mountains five or six hundred feet i.i, height. : The whole of this area is now u waste of ruins, ; dwelling houses, palaces, temples, and triimi- i phai arches,'all prostrate together in uudistju guishablo confusion. I’he sides ofihe moan tains are cut smooth, in a perpendicular di ■ reetton, and tilled u illj long and continued ranges ofdwelliug houses, temples, and tombs, excavated with vast labor out ofthe solid rock ; and while their summits present nature m her wildest and most, savage form, their bases aie 1 adorned wjth all the beauty of architecture and art, with columns, and porticos, and pedi ’ merits, and ranges of corridors, enduring as the , mountains out of which they are hewn, and fresh ns [if the work of a generation scarce ly yet gone by. In front ofthe great temple, the pride and beauty of Petra, of which more hereafter, I saw a narrow opening in the rocks exactly corresponding with my conception of the ob ject for which I was seeking. A full stream of water Was gushing through it, and filling up the whole mouth ot the passage. Mounted on the shoulders of one of my Bedouins I got him to carry me through the swollen stream at the mouth ofthe opening, and set me down on a dry place a little above, whence I began to pick my way, occasionally taking to the shoul ders of my follower, and continued to advance ; more than a mile. I was, beyond all perad- I venture, in the great entrance I was seeking. ! There could not be two such, and I should | have gone on to the extreme end of the ravine, ' but my Bedouin suddenly refused me the fur ther use of his shoulders. He had been some time objecting and begging me to return, and now positively refused to go any farther, and. in fact, turned about himself. I was anxious to proceed, but I did not like wading up to my I knees it? the water, nor did 1 feel very resolute I to go where I might expose myself to danger, < as he seemed to intimate. While I was hesitating, another of my men : came running up the ravine, and shortly after : him Paul and the sheik, breathless with baste, ’ and crying in low gutturals, 11 El Arab! El t Arab!” The Arabs! the Arabs! This was t enough for me. I had heard so much of El < Arab that I had become nervous. It was < like the cry of Delilah in the ears of the sleep- t tng Sampson. ‘ The Philistines be upon thee.’ l At the other end of the ravine was an encamp- i ' ment of the El Alouins: and the sheik, having t due regard to my communication about money t ; matters, had shunned this entrance to avoid ■ i bringing mo this horde of tribute gatherers for j a participation in the spoils.—Without any ! disposition to explore farther, I turned towards the city ; and it was now that I began to feel ! the powerful and indelible impression that must be produced on entering, through this moun tainous passage, the excavated city of Petra. > For about two miles it lies between high and 1 precipitous ranges of rucks from five hundred > to a thousand feet in height, standing as if torn ! assunder by some great convulsion, and barely * wide enough for two horsemen to pass abreast. ■ A swelling stream rushes between them; the summits are wild and broken ; in some places ) I overhanging the opposite sides, casting the ] darkness of night upon the narrow defile ; then 1 receding and forming an opening above, thro’ 1 which a strong ray of light is thrown do.vn, ' and illuminates with the blaze of day the fright- ' ful chasm below. I Wild fig-trees, oleanders, and ivy, were growing out ofthe rocky sides of the cliffs 1 hundreds of feet above our heads; the eagle ; was screaming above us; all along were the 1 open doors of tombs, forming the great Necro- I polis of the city ; and at the extreme end was i a large open space, with a powerful body of ] light thrown down upon it, and exhibiting, in one full view, the facade of a beautiful temple ’ hewn out of the rock, with rows of Corinthian columns and ornaments, standing out fresh and j j clear as if but yesterday from the hands ofthe I I sculptor. Though coming directly from the j I banks of the Nile, where the preservation of ; tlie temples excites the admiration and aston- ! ishment of every traveller, we were roused and ! excited by the extraordinary beauty and ex cellent condition ofthe temple at Petra. Even in coming upon it as we did, at disad vantage, I remember that Paul, who was a passionate admirer of the arts 1 when he first j obtained a glimpse ofit, involuntarily cried out, I and moving on to the front with a vivacity I ( never saw him exhibit before or afterwards, ; clapped his hands ana shouted in ecstacy.— ' j To the last day of our being together, he was I in the hub t ot referring to his extraordinary j fit of enthusiasm when he first came upon that/ i temple; and I can well imagine that, entering I | by this narrow defile, with the feelings roused I by its extraordinary and romantic wildness and i j beauty, the first view of that superb facade ■ j must produce an efibet which could never pass ' ! away. Even now that I have returned to tlie j i pursuits and thought-engrossin , incidents of a | life in the busiest city in the world, often in j situations as widely different as light from dark- ! uess, I see before me the facade of that temple j —neither the Coliseum at Rome, grand and ! interesting as it is, nor the ruins of the Acrop. [ I olis at Athens, nor the Pyramids, nor the tnigh- ; I ty temples ofthe Nile, are so often present to I my memory. [ Leaving the temple and the open area on ' 1 I which it fronts and following the stream, we j 1 ! entered another defile much broader than the j; first, on each side of which were ranges of P tombs, with sculptured doors and columns ; ; ’ andon the left, in the bosom of the mountains ’ hewn out of the solid rocks, is a large Thea- I 1 tre, circular in form, (be pillars in front fallen, j 1 j and containing thirty-three rows ot seats, ca- I 1 j pable of containing more than three thousand ■' ; persons. Above the corridor was a range of /' | doors opening to chambers in the rock, the ] 1 I seats ofthe princesand wealthiest inhabitants I I of Petra, and not unlike a row of private boxes i I in a modern Theatre. | The whole Theatre is at this day in such a I state of preservation, that if the tenants ofthe i tombs could once more rise into life, they might I take their places on its seats, and listen to the j [ declamation of their favorite player. To me [ I the stillness of a ruined city is no where so i (impressive as when sitting on the steps of its theatre ; once thronged with the gay anti plea surc-seeking: but now given up to solitude and i desolation. Day after day these seats had been filled, and the now silent rocks had echo- [ ed to the applauding shouts of thousands ; and I little could an ancient Edomite imagine that a I ; so itary stranger, from a then unknown world, I ; would one day be wandering among the ruins ; of his proud and wonderful city, meditating ( upon the fate of a race that has for ages pas- Ise i away. Where are ye, inhabitants of the ( ! desolate city, you who once sat on the seats of i this Theatre, the young, the high-born, the i beautiful and brave —who once rejoiced in your ! riches and power, and lived as if there were Ino grave?—where are ye now ? Even the ■ very tombs, whose open doors, are stretching I away in long ranges before the eyes ofthe ; wandering traveller, cannot reveal the mystery ( .f yoiif doom : your dry bones arc gone; the I robber has invaded your graves, and your very ashes have been swept away to make room [ for the wandering Arab ot the desert. But we need not slop at the days when a gay ; population crowded to this Theatre. In the I earliest periods of recorded time, long before ibis Theatre was built, and long before the I triune muse was known, a great city stood here, j When Esau, having sold his birthright for a | mess of pottage, came to his portion among the I mountains ot Seir; and Edom, growing in j power u::d strength, became presumptuous and haughty, until, in her pride, when Israel pray, j ed a passage through her country, Edom said unto Israel, “Thou shalt not pass by me, lest I come Oiit against thee with the sWord.” Amid all the terrible denunciations against the land of Idumea, “ her cities and the inhab itants thereof’’this proud city among the rocks, doubtless for its extraordinary sins, was always marked as a subject of extraordinary vengeance, “ I have sworn by myself, saith the Lord, that Bozrah (the strong or fortified) shall become a desolation, a reproach, and a waste, and a curse, and all the cities thereof shall be perpetual waste. Lo. I will make thee small among the heathen, and despised among men. Thy ter ribleness hath deceived thee, and the pride of thy heart, oh thou that dwellest in the clefts of the rocks; that boldest the height of the hill; though thou shouldst make thj‘ nest as high as the eagle, I wlllbring thee down from thence, saith the Lord.”* “ They shall call the nobles thereofto the kingdom, but none shall be there, and all her princes shall be nothing; and thorns shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof, and it shall be a habitation for dragons, and a court for owls.”t I would that the skeptic could stand, as I did among the ruins ofthis city among the rocks, and there open the sacred book and read the words of the inspired penman, written when this desolate place was one of the greatest ci ties in the world i I see the scoff arrested, his cheek pale, his lip quivering, and his heart quaking with fear, as the ruined city cries out to him in a voice loud und powerful as that of the risen from the dead : —Though he would not believe Moses and the prophets, he believes the handwriting of God himself in the desola tion and internal ruin around him. * Jeremiah xiix, 13,16. f Isaiah xxxiv, 14 ( IS. Frcwt the New York Transcript. MONEY MAKES A MAN BOLD. This is an axiom that few perhaps will de ny. The celebrated Dr. Witherspoon, Pres ident of Princeton College, going to preach on a Sunday in a neighboring country Congregation as he passed through the square to the pulpit, said to one of the ruling elders, “John, lend me a crown.” The crown was lent, and the Rev. Dr. pulling it into his pocket, went into the pulpit and preached a bold, eloquent and powerfully pathetic sermon. Descending from the pulpit after service, he pulled out the mon ey and said to John, “here is your crown.” ‘•Oh. keep it,’ says the elder. ‘No no, says the Dr. ‘I only wanted it when I preached, for a man is always bolder with the money in his pocket.’ This anecdote of one of the most sensible men of his day, is not only true as an isolated fact, but it is also true as a gen eral principle, as applicable to almost all man kind. The min with money in his pocket is invariably bolder than him who has none. Ex. perience teaches abundantly. Go into company where any thing is to be expended or any thing to be purchased, and if you are ever so wise and virtuous, or otherwise ever so fearless, you feel on this occasion exceedingly timid, ash ' amed and even sheepish.—While yoUr neigh bor, who has not half your mind on merit, who has monev, is as bold as a lion. It you enter a market or shop to buy an article you want, altho’ ' your credit is ever so good, you feel a want ot confidence in yourself, and cannot drive a bargain halfso readily or adroitly as ifyou have the cash to plank down for the purchase. If you are in debt, and one of those ugly articles a dun conies arci'oss you, and you have not the money how insignficant and humbled you [ feel in your estimation, and what a sorry apol i ogist you make. Whereas, if you have the ' money to pav with, yeui'spirits|are elastic und i light, and you arc is bold as Bonaparte himself. ! As a politician, you present a poor humilia ' ting posture without money, and are computed i as a nought in arithmetic, as of no account , whatever. If you enter a gentleman’s house to attend a drawing room party or soiree, if von are known not to have money, no matter how wise or virtuous you may bs, \ou feel I humbled to the dust almost, as you heur some rich fool call you in a whisper “ a poor de ; vii.” And whether you are a minister, a lawyer, a doctor, a menchanl, an editor, a mechanic, or any thing els? i i life or tn business —if you have no money or next to none, your feel ings tells you, that you are despised by others | who are rich, and who have their pockets full of cash, and your mortification at the con temptuous treatment you receive, is almost overwhelming. Some may praise you for your talents, admire you for your amicability; eulogise you for"virtues and your patriotism— but the epilogue to all this fine dramatic eu logism is, poor fellow, he is poor and has no money. Money thett, not only makes a man bold at.d fearless, but is considered as the chief evidence, the undoubted criterion of merit. If a man is rich, the world says he is ‘a good man,’ evsn if he is lepious with half the vices that curse humanity ; and a jackass with a pair of panniers on his back, stuffed with dollars, is reputedly a much wiser and better and admirable auimai, than the noble lion, who ranges lurdol the forest, and is king bv consent of his fourfooted kinsmen. The meanest fool, the veriest knave, with plenty of money, can make his way near to the throne, while the wisest and most virtuous man with [ out it must lay like Lazarus at the gale. A J celebrated writer says —‘wealth is power,’and ' we add it is also coin age, conduct and virtue. ; Line the pocket, and the man can storm the | rock of Gibralter enipt) it, and he is frightened jat a fly. Money is the god of this world ; all ; who have it, are of the orthodox faith; those I who have not, are considered heretics, and I “worse than infidels.” ■ MOUNT VERNON. When the celebrated Admiral Vernon, with i six ships only, was attacking Porto Bello, in ( 1741. as is commemorated on the medal struck on the occasion, he observed a fine young man, in appearance, who, with the most in trepid courage,attended with the most perfect calmness was always in that part ot the ship most engaged. Al ter the firing had ceased he sent bis captain to request he would attend upon him; which request he promptly obeyed. The admiral, entering into coversation .vith him, discovered that he possessed more in formation than generally appertains to young men, and his attachment became proportionate to his good opinion. On inquiring his name, h I gave that of Washington—a name which subsequent events exalted amongst nations! The gentleman thus distinguished was Mr. John Washington, who served in the expedi tion against Cartbagenn. On retiring to private life, be settled on tlte banks of the poto mac, and, tn remembrance of his brave old com mander named his residence Mount Vcrnoii. t<»l. V-N«. «• j This mansion and estate he beijUteHthed to hi* younger brother, George ; who, when he altfi returned to the rank of a private citizen, rpeiit there his last honorable days. There lived, and there died, the illustrious Father of his country. * Fetv travellers, who cofiie tvllhin a reason able distance of Mount Vernon; fail to visit the Tomb of Washington—for there reposes the apostle of liberty, the benefactor of his boentry tlnd the friend of mankind! But what is human praise ? “Tombs, mausoleums, scrolls, whose weak in tents Time laughs to scorn, as he blots out theit story; Are not the niighiy spirit’s monument. He builds with the world’s wonder; his cement. The world’s love ; liis lamp, his beamy shine With fires of the soul’s essence, which, unspent. Burn on for ever! Fuch bright tomb is thine. Great PA-ratoT.’* * A bright flower may spontaneously glint forth in a barren soil; so a geperous feeling may occasionally soften a rugged nature. The following instance may illustrate the sentiment: When Admiral Cockburn, whose tender met cies illuminated the metropolis of the Union, was passing up the Fotoffiac, during the late U r ar, he requested to be told when they apprach ed Mount Vernon. Due notice was given, when the commander, officers, and crew.stood on the deck, silent and uncovered ! What an honorable tribute to patriotism nnd valor ; what a pleasing proof that pone are all evil! A. B. Washington Suh. Mr. Cunningham’s Oration. Delivered before the College Volunteers, thn ” Franklin Btuei," on the celebration of the. Anniversary of said Corps, March 18, 1837. University of Gcorgia, ) March 18th, 1837. $ Orderly Sergeant. John Cunningham— Dear Sih— The undersigned have been appointed a Conitnitlee, from the Collego Vd>. lui.tecrs. to tender you the thanks of the Com pany for the able manner in which you have discharged your duty aq our Anniversary Ora tor, and to request a copy of your Address for publication. We arc confident in the success of this effort. For the sake of the Company, therefore, we hope that you will readily fur nish us with a copy; Yours, very reapcctfu'lyj JOHN ROLEN, i DAV. WILL. LEWIS, \ Com'tee. A. S. WINGFIELD, ) Cott KOK, March 18th, 1887. Capt. Rolen, Lieut. D. W. Lewis, Serg’t Wingfield— Gentlemen-** t gratefully acknowledge the receipt of a letter from you, requesting a copy of the Oration delivered by me before the Vo. lunteers. Being ever willing-, and feeling it my duty, to accord with the wishes of our Company, I shall put a copy at ydut disposal. With the best wishes for the prosperity of tho Volunteers, and with every respect for your selves, I remain vours, J. CUNNINGHAM. We meet Fellow Soldiers, on this our Anni versary, to recall the objects of opr associa tion ; to trace the connexion between the prin ciples of our union, and the interests of our country ; id excite our hearts to a warm smu lation, and to nerve us to a more steady re. solve in the prosecution of our designs; and as patriots and freemen, wc meet, fellow eiti* zeus; to confer upon the w’elfurs of oUr coun try. Peace, as the breeze when it pillows itself upon the gently swelling waves of the main, is resting in quiet upon the land; and like thn sea, when almost hushed, it sends forth the still murmur of man’s calmed existence--th.» scarcely audible breath of life—the whispered fiats of its destiny. And its calm sighings up on freedom’s harp, have lulled to a sweet le thargy our stroiny passions, and we have closed I our eyes, to revel as in a dream ; we have shut them against that which should demand our at tention, and have become careless ot our na tion’s welfare and glorious advance. It is not for us Americans, to sleep at our posts, since the interests of liberty have been committed to our peculiar guardianship •• History has taught the lessons and principles of freedom ; but her teachings have been extended with long intervals ovef the period of six thousand years. From age to age, amid darkness and confusion, some letters of golden light have been written on her scroll; but they have been like the sybil’s leaves, scattered by the winds, until they have become mysterious caigmas— undecypherable hieroglyphics. In our age and in our land, we havo brought those sepa rated characters together;and from these boun tiful revelations of experience and history, thd union of true liberty and the restraints of go vernment, have been happily eoeaUmmtttßd. Those sublime rudiments, you, Americans, first began to reveal; aud it needs your applies tion and constant diligence, to lenrn fully man’ll capability of independence. You are actors upon the stage of life—-in that dfamt-, whoso moral is Order, combined tbiih Freedom i Thu world is gating upon you ; to gain its applause and your satisfaction, you must act yoUir parts with energy and spirit. Have you not Ittst your proper enthusiasm? Have you Cdnsitlb ed diligently and constantly upon those miiitrt» ry mensurcs, which should coincide in vigor with our prosperity, and with the increase ot probabilities, that we may be engaged in wars of defence, as We commercially mingle with the nations of the earth. Look nfoUnd and view our country’s military strength ; you must admit that it is small. Our internal resources, although in every respect abundant, are dis connected and disorganized; Are you ready for the prompt convulsive energy of 1 strife 1 Let not national pride tvhispcr that you are— learn the truth, from the last few pages of our history: Our Indian rclntibns have shown our quantity of enefgy, and our Capability ot promptitude and lightning-like effect. Ame ricans, there is needed in aii governments a power, moral, physical, and executive, belong ing peculiarly to that in its basis—regulating and guarding! It is neces sary for it there to exist, in oruet to counter act that which may tend to subvert that gov ernment ; it is always either to destroy or maintain, to effect evil or good. The fear ot it—and this is a moral power,may for a while ¥ be substituted in place of its direct influence s