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OY JAJIES W. JOYKS. The Southern Whig, PU ILU IEO EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the hi st number, or four dollars if not paid within the year. Sub- | scribers living out of the State, wifi be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, -unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option ot the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, -of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, .a setlement 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 fy'j- Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, > must be published forty days previous to ■ the day of sale. • I . I Notice to debtors and creditors ol an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court I of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must Le published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters ■ of administration, must be published thirty > days and Letters of Dismission, six months, i For Advertising—Letters of Citation. S /5 , Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 3'2 > ' Four Months Notices, 4 CO Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 325 , 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 hues of sin 1 11 type, (or space j 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. Fur a single insertion, §1 00 per square. m.—, t PROSPECTUS l OF THE < Fjnill* paper formerly edited by Win. E. IL Jones, is now under the direction of the undersigned. 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 ofthe true spirit of the constitution, the maintainance ofthe rightsand sovereignty «>f the Tkr. k vn patronage, reform, and a strict accountability -of all public officers; moderate, yet linn and decided in his censures, “nothing extenuate or setdown ought in malice,”—to expose prompt ly abuses and corruption when and whereevr discovered —such an one the undersigned pro doses to make the Whig; while it will contain the most authentic and important information connected with our foreign and domestic relit pons, the latest commercial intelligence, ori .tiinal articles, and selections from the nios gopular works of the day in the various depaitt tneiits of Agriculture. Literature ai d the Aits. To Georgians the undersigned is conscious Lc appeals not in vain for an increase of patron-. a ge and he respectfully asks the friends of constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob- • lain subscribers. , • The Southern Whig is published weekly in Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty j netifs if not paid within six months, or Four ; if not paid until the cud of the vear. J. W. J ONES. ”” PROSPECTUS. AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank lin College, it was unanimously resolved to be expedient to make arrangements to issue a j Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called THJS ATHENIAN. The undersigned were appointed by the So ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi- j tors of the work, until the next meeting of the i Society. We have no interest in the work, ex- j ■ccpt that which we take in the welfare of the ; country and honor of the State. We, of the j South, have too long depended upon foreign j 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 t’e Alumni of Franklin College, will patronize the ■enterprise both by word and deed. State pride the love of Literature, our interest in the cause of general Education, all call upon us to sustain an enterprise so necessary our improvement, ■und the honor ofthe Stete. A. S. CLAYTON, JAMES JACKSON, IL D. MOORE, WM. L. MITCHELL, C. F. McCAY, SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY, 11. HULL. Tme Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine paper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form, ■and 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 *hall 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, payuble on the delivery ofthe first num ber. Jfcjk r FH E Subscriber would respectfully inform the public that he has ta. ken this Commodious establishment situate on the North East corner of the Public Square and opened it for the accom modation of Boarders, and Visitors. He deems it unnecessary to add anv thin<>- in relation to the healthy situation ofthe Vi!!a<>e,nr the many virtues of the adjacent Spring,°Loth of which have been fully tested. . For the comfort of those who call, his best efforts shall be brought into requisition. J. W. SHAW. Ginesville, Geo. May 13,—2—Gt The Augusta Sentinel, .Seuthern Recorder and Federal Union, will each give the above 6 weekly insertions and forward their accounts for payment. t.IOUR 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 Robert Williams, Sen’r. late of said County deceased DAWSON WILLIAMS, Adm’r. Feb. 25,—13-Im Southern Whig THE POET’S GRAI E< No heme had he, the mountain bre ,vn His lone and lowly couch supplk d, And not a star from heaven lookei 1 down, What time the wandering reins re! died. Upon that hill He slumbers still, No sculptured urn records the spot. But pity’s tear, Bedewed his bier, For strangers mourned, that knew' him n Jt- Whencc came that minstrel ?—from a cli ne Far distant o’er the dark blue sea, Where freedom was so wild a crime, That none but outlaws dared be free. A felon band La id waste the land, Her slaves were bought—Her freemen bled , That minstrel’s songs Proclaimed her wrongs. His sword avenged them —and he fled His country now his home no more, Dejected, heartless and alone, He sought upon a distant shone, For that denied him in his own. His fortunes fled, Ambition dead, I Himself a heartless wanderer, driven, Without a ray ( To cheer his way Without a friend —a hope, but heaven. Lament —lament, ye sons of song, And chaunt his dirge notes round his grav<, i There fell a brother of your throng, To famine and to grief a slave. Yet why lament? , He died content: No lingering look to life he cast. His hours were rife, With grief and strife, But there in peace he sleeps at last. From Blacktcood's Magazine for February. The Page. A Story oS t«ie ISeign ci Ch# i-lcs IX. (FROM THE GERMAN. ) The Duke Lewis Gonzaga, th« heir of Man tua, was standing by the window of his cham ber in the Louvre. He had just dismissed the attendant, and had extinguish nd the lights which he had placed upon the table, as if to surround himself without with Lhe same gloom which weighed upon his sp'.rit within. In this, however, he was unsuccessful: for the silver moonlight, which had at first been over powered by the glare of thr : tapers, now pour, ed into the apartment in it s full lustre, and il laminated the busy and crot vded street beneath. The light which streamer! upon ail objects a rotind him seemed to inc rease the discornpo. sure of the Prince; he .gazed from the win dow with looks of inipatt Mice almost approach ing to passion. ° xxi.l x i.o. .. ... ,v Ufe u,. 1?1US to fall in love with a s* atue, and still more so to lose my temper, thrt a mere statue should ba without heart ant’, without feeling? Yes, a statue indeed, she is rightly named ; such is Diana of Nevers. But, I will have done with this folly. I will Cared my affections to a wor thier object. Her companion, the Princess Renee, has charms that, had not mine eyes been blinded by some spell, must have cast in to the shade the marble beauties of Diana, j She is the sist; rof the King. True ; but a ; Prince —who s jes before him in no remote perspective the prospect of a throne, may surely, without presumption, lift bis eyes even to that lofty prize. Yes, Diana, you have re jected my hand—you have forbidden my at- I tentions—you shall be gratified; I shall be ( stow them elsewhere.” ! His soliloquy was interrupted by the en- ■ trance of an attendant, who, astonished at fin. ! ding the tapers extinguished, stood iu the i doorway without entering. “ What is the matter?” said the Duke with ! some irritation. j “My Lord, the unknown page, who has call ! ed twice without seeing you, is here a third I time. He observed you enter the palace, and [ though 1 tola him you had given orders not to : be disturbed, he will not go away, but insists lon speaking to you. I have therefore ventured ■ to announce him.” j “Light the tapers again said the Duke, en-! j deavoring to overcome the remnant of his fee ling of ill-humor. “ Let him enter.” j A young man entered, dressed in the plain i garb of a citizen, yet arranged with a certain j air of stu lied simplicity ; its dark colour relic j ved by a small white scarf, worn on the shoul i dor, like that of a knight. The Dake eyed ibis visitor with astonishment; for the figure I which this simple attire invested was one to which the court of Charles, remarkable as it then was for its display of manly beauty, scarcely furnished a parallel. The fine pro , portion of the limbs was equalled by the beau tv of the features, on which sat an expression of boldness derived from the consciousness of their power, with which, however, the niodcs- i ty of his beat ing was at variance. I “What is your wish with me?” said Don Lewis, with a piercing look, mid in a tone in which his secret vexation was perceptible. The vouih made a sudden and apparently ' almost involuntary movement, as if to clasp ' his harp; he dropped his own, however, im. i mediately, and said with some confusion, “To I obtain something which at present you do not > ; seem inclined to grant, and yet upon which , i my whole hope is placed.’’ “A id that is” continued the Duke, still i eyeing him steadily, J ’ “It is three days,” repliej the youth, “since ; I came to Paris: da .Y 01 ln - v arr ‘‘ i val your first page ftiv a fall of his , horse in hunting. n his place; i for 1 am not my way up • j to preferment from bt .i “Hah!—that place is not to be obtained so I lightly. Who are you ?” I “ A stranger,” r< pli< d he youilr, “as my ac i 1 cent must have informed you. 1 tint what 1 ’’ appear. If you are pleased with inv outside, I I you shall not find yourself deceived in the in . I nor man ; but I have no recommendations to t i I preset;t to you. j “Whence arc you them? of what family “{fl please you, my lord, my zeal shall do ’ I no discredit to it.” ’ | “Y on may please mo,hut tout is not enough. s j “Let it be enough. [L»w easy it would be I for me to iave. t a story, to exhibit papers ;m I jlelt'rsof recommer.diition ; but I disdain to * I deceive a good and cotifidi ig master by a lb;, and 1 cannot i'll the truth. My wish is simply I to form invself under so renowned a master ol arms, an 1 believe me I shall do you no’disc:e- I dit.” “WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMED Y. Jefferson. I “ What is your name ?” ' “I call myself C.iussade do St. Megret; I but that is not my teal name.” I “Youngman, I too am young, but olderthan I you. Believe me, no good can come of half revelations. If you would gain my confi dence—bo open with me. Tell me all.” “Duke!” exclaimed the youth, interrupting him, “ have I not already in w hat I have said shown the greatest confidence? I iutrus’ you with my life, with my happiness —and willing, ly would I intrust you withall, did not the vow which I have made to my lady forbid.” “Your lady!” repeated the Duke, scarcely restraining a slight sneer as his eye glided over I the beardless beauty of the youth, and rested on the white scarf he wore ; “and that scarf is of course of her color?” - “ Even so,” said the youth. “Strange!” whispered Gonzaga to himself —and the word was no sooner uttered than a sudden thought seemed to cross his mind. He ! rose and stood for a moment before the mir- I ror, as if comparing his own noble and ex j pressive features with those of the youth ; j then continuing his whispered soliloquy, “ Be lit so,” he said. “ Could I find a better or fit | ter revenge than that this proud beauty sh< uld j prefer the page to the Priuce, the boy to the | man ?—that she has perhaps already done so. I I will make the experiment. Caussade,” tur- I I ning to the page, “ I will try at least how far ! ' you are qualified to fill the place of my poor ' ! follower.” j That very evening Caussade wis admitted ! into the service of the Prince. He seemed overjoyed at his situation. Not so Gonzaga himself, As ho lay that night tossing on his couch, be began a littio to I v- I ;. J ..f,the nrecipitan- ' cy with which he had acted. The n flection occurred to him that he had thus perhaps been .’he means of enabling an adventurer to prose cute soma unworthy design against her whom he secretly—though he could hardly say why— believed to be the object of his attentions, and yet he felt again as if he could rely securely on the cold heart and icy virtue of Diana. A voice within whispered that she who had remained untouched by the honorable homage of the Prince’s heart, Would not yi“. ! d to the arts or idle flatteries of a page. He determi ned, however, to keep a watchful eye on both ; and should his worst apprehensions be confirm ed, he would then at least have the bitter com fort of knowing thst Diana had been unwor thy of his love, and would be enabled to ban ish entirely every lingering thought of her from his bosom. Several weeks elapsed, but with all his at tentiou the Duke could perceive no traces of the least intelligence or even acquaintance be tween the page and the fair Diana. He tho’t he perceived indeed, that when Caussade was in the company of the Princess of Nevers, and her friend the Princess Renee, as he some times had occasion to be, while in attendance on the person of the Prince, the page’s eye sparkled with unusuvd lustre ; but if so, it en- j countered no answering glow on the part of Diana ; and her look still wore that calm and . kv..>o r .» 1..’-., io. U.vvi iw 14U.M11 UUI CX- pression. To the Duke himself, since she had declined the offer of his hand, her conduct was marked by all her former gentleness ; nay, ' he almost thought at times that he could trace ! an air of pity m her eye, as it rested upon him | —though the instant he turned towards her, or ■ addressed her, she seemed to shr.nk into her- j self, and to resume her former air of impas- | si vencss. While Caussade continued to rise in the good graces of his master, his position among his fellow servants .was very different. In proportion as he was zealous and -dutiful in presence of his master, he was dictatorial and imperious among the household: contriving with great dexterity to throw upon his compa nions all the troublesome and disagreeable du ties of his office, and yet in such a manner ' that they did not venture to complain, for the rapid and mysterious way in which he had ; at once been placed over their heads, and the 1 obvious freedom with which he treated even his master, plainly showed that he was far dee per in the Duke’s confidence than themselves. His uncommon dexterity in every thing rela ting to hunting, and the presence of mind which he had occasional opportunities of show ing, had not only won the favor of the Duke, but even attracted the notice of the King, at whose hunting parties he now formed a regular attendant. To the King’s inquiry after his birth, ho had answered that he was ! the son of a nobleman of Savoy ; and all hough his accent was evidently that of a furcirru-7, he spoke French with so much fluency. would have required n more practised ear than was then to be found nt the Court to determine to what nation he owed his birth. It was on a fine summer morning about this time, when the rays of the sun, though giving 'promise of a sultry day, still shone only with | a mild and refreshing warmth, that two females ] were seen standing side by side on a terrace of the cast'.- of Vincennes, to wlfich the Court had removed with the commencement of sum mer. An arbor, composed of rare and fra- ■ grant plants arranged in flower-pots, the brun ches of which were.entwined in festoons above their heads, shaded them from the sun, and al most conceded them from the eye. The one was little, delicate, ethereal, such 1 as one would picture a sylph, though a com plexion inclining to the brunette, and two dark ! eyen that sparkled like playful lightning, gave I token, after all, of her terrestial origin. The . i other was lull, slander, with features of the | most regular beauty; the slightest tinge of j color animated her check ; mildness and re- I pose spoke from the dark hue. of her eye, : while a dewy moisture v ithin it gave to her I countenance an expression of still melancholy, | which seemed to speak of sacrifice and resig- ' I nation. The former was tho princess Renee < : i of France—the latter her friend, Diana of Ne- ! vers. 1 j The cheerful note nf preparation for the j hunt, which rose from the castle court below, 1 j had moused the royal princess at an earlv ■ hour. Waking her friend, who, according to ; the custom of the time, shared with her, as ! dame d'atours, her chamber and her Couch. , I lhey hastened, in light morning attire, to the . ; terrace, where, concealed within their flowe i : ry arbor, they waited to witness the departure !of the royal cavalcade. They stood there in ■ . silence, with eyes and years intent, till the train , ' wound out, the last blast of the horn sounded, j and the castlegatos were again closed. Tho ’ j Pri icess Renee turned to her friend with a look ,i of archness in her countenance. She saw : ! that the shade of pensiveness which general , ! ly characterised her looks hud now gathered , I itself into tears. “Do I see aright?” she exclaimed joyfully, f “Yes; you are not the cold statue which the Court calls you. Ah! that stolen glance, which sought you from below, I gee, has found' ATHEA'S, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JUYE 10, 1837. its object. You have a heart, Diana ; conceal ; it not.” . Diana looked at her as if with surprise. “I i observed no glance,” said siie, with aconstrain [’ ed. smile, through which, however, a suppres- ■ sed sigh made its way. I “ Happy gill!” replied the Princess, lighten- J ing her heart by a leud sigh, which she did 1 j not seek to suppress, “ Why deny it? You | are not prevented by the ceremonial of a court jor the caprice of an imperious brother from following the inclinations of your heart. Why .look you on me so suspiciously? Lay that glowing check on my bosom, and confess to me—‘Sister. I am happy.’ Ah! had that glance been directed to me !” And so saying, she embraced her friend with agitation, bury ing her cheeks and eyes in h > bosom, ns if seeking to conceal the tears which threatened ’ to burst forth amidst the folds of her drapery. “ I und. rstand ye net Renee ; speak more plainly.” “ The glance —must I speak it ? —of (he lair Caussade,” whispered the Princess, looking up with an air ot suspicious fear: “he alone observed us. As he rode out, I saw him turn round twice to gaze upon you.” “I observed him not,” said Diana, coldly, .almost contemptuously. “ And yet there glitters a t ’embling mois ' ture in your aye. On whom, if not on him, I were its glances directed? Why do you blush ? ■ I disguise not my feelings. My brother's train j consists of the very flower of chivalry. To Charles himself Nature lias not been indiffer ent ; but I have eyes only for one. Forgive your friend if, occupied v ilh her own thought*, she has failed to spy out your favorite, and tell me, without further concealment, who, amidst ihm glittering cavalcade, appears the fairest and the most amiable in your eyes. Nay, no preaching tones,” said she, laying her finger on Diana’s lips. “Be gentle; repel not my confidence ; for I,too, feel impelled, by an ir resistible temptation, to deposit a sweet secret io your breast. Whois the fairest and the most amiable ?” “Be it so then,” said Diana gazing on her with a look of anxiety, “your confidence is dearer to me than any thing. The fairest, say you —in truth, Renee, I know not —but the most amiable is the Duke Gonzaga. ’ “Gonzaga:” exclaimed the Princess, with surprise, “ and is it he you love? ’ “ Love him !” repeated Diana, I said not that; and yet, Renee” —and shs with difficul ty repressed her tears,—“l almost believe so. But fear not. You see how his whole attach ment. his whole attentions are directed to you alone. Mistake me not. It is not love, —it is sisterly anxiety which agitates me. What can come of it? Your brother will never be stow your hand upon the Duke.” “ I love him not,” said the Princess, hastily; “but you! This does indeed surprise me. Why then did you refuse his hand, or are the reports of his secret courtship and your refu sal untrue? I cannot believe it.” “ Were he again offer me his hand it would be again refused, 'said Diana, sinking ucr eyes to i”u j- “ flow am I to understand this ?” “ His happiness is too dear to me to allow me [to sacrifice his prospects on my account. A I princely coronet in prospect is his; but were | unclu in Mantau dead, his pretensions uro not so ! elixir, so undisputed, but that, i.< that land ofin ! trigue he would have ample need of powerful connections, active relations, and ample trea sures to support bis claims. hat could the poor parentless Princess of Novers do for him ? A union with me would only closi the door against his rights and make his wife a burden to him.” “Strange, ovarscrupulous girl!” said the Princess, looking at her intently and with sur prise—“ You might be happy, and yet for the sake of a lucre chimera you sacrifice that hap- ! piness. Alas! what have we poor maidens left in this world, if we are voluntarily to sa crifice its brightest jewel—love ? I must re 's sign it,l was born to dos>—but you— strangv!” “Thon Karn from me, dear Renee, to make the sacrifice patiently when it must be made.” j 41 1 shall make none to which lam not com- ! polled by outward force,” said Kcnee, with I emotion. “And so it is to me that your faith less swam pays his court? I will not deny ) that I was flattered by the thought of being able j by a gentle smile to atone for your coldness-; but now since this confidence I look upon the , matter in another light. I love him not—and ■ could'not—Oh! Diana, ungrateful frioufl”— , stoppi' g short, and h;i’ glowing | Checks on the boAun cl her friend—“Oh, Di- ! ana! you have attached to yourself a sweeter glance, and will not perceive it: Oh ! how I [ loathe this greatness, which scarces from the I heart every feeling of love.” “ What do you mean,” said Diana ; “ and of s what glance do you speak?” “Os that which reached you without your ! knowing of it—of that of the liuiidsoine Caus sade.” “The madman!” replied Diana, in a tone of! irritation. “True, it is not the first time I have witnessed bis shameless glances—not I directed indeed to me, but to you ; although I j will not deny it, I perceived also that he had I no objection to make use of me as a device to ! conceal their true direction. Be candid with me, Renee ! you know it us well as I; trust not the audacious youth.” “I wished but to hear it confirmed by you.” said Renee, blushing; “ but you ctill him shameless, audacious. Why so ? because he has an open heart—an eye for beauty— • because love gives him courage to dare any j thing ! Their conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of some ofthe attendants of the Princess, to announce that her presence was required in some ofthe usual monotonous uvo cations of the day. Nor did the friends find an opportunity of meeting again till the vesper [ b :11s were ringing, and the hunting party,amidst i a peal of woodland music, had re-entered the i castle. Renee pressed the hand of Diana, and whis j peretl, “I have thought ofaP you said. You I are a saint, Diana, however heathenish your i name may sound. Yet even the saints are j pet milted to be happy—and, by our Lady, J ! shall do my best to make you so: Gonzaga i shall be yours.” *■ For Gon’s sake,” exclaimed the princess j ;of Nevers, tu terror, •* let me not have occasion ' ! to repent my cm.fluence in you 1” “T1 at yon shall not,” replied Renee. “Con- < ; fide in me : I will not mteifere, if such is your ; rosolve ; but, at least, be not angrv if I would ’ fain learn wfi’ether Gonzaga is to be the man. Listen, and do not chide me. 1 have spent the morning, ns usual, in the apartment ofthe Duchess of Mantau, tumbling over her books. I She is a very learned lady, as you know, the’ j she makes little pretension tojt. Among oth-| J era, I met with a thick quarto volume, written I on vellum, and illuminated with strange painted ■ figures. Know you of what the book treated ? Os natural magic! The Duchess and I talked a great deal about it: n is all perfectly inno cent, I assure you. And now, tell me”—said she, pausing, and putting her finger to her fore head—“ do you happen to have in your pos session any sword or weapon belonging to your family ?” “I believe, said Diana, with some surprise, “my brothers, when they joined tlie army, left a number of articles in my possession ; and that there are wepons among them.” “Excellent!” exclaimed her friend, clap ping her hands joyfully together. “ Come, come!” And hurrying to tho wardrobe, she was not long in finding a sword among its mis cellaneous contents. “But explain, explain,” cried Diana, fol lowing her. “We have found what was wanting. Ere to-morrow morning—if you have courage to confide in good spirits—you shall know wheth er Gonzaga is destined to be yours or not.— Natural magic, you must know, Diana, teaches us, that if any one, man or woman, wishes to know whether the beloved object shall betheirs, she must place under his pillow a naked sword ; and if she dream of him during the nigh?, when he sleeps above the blade, her wishes shall bo realised. Why do you look at me thus dotibt ingly ? The hour is favorable. The Duke is • gaged at a late dinner with the King: we can cross his mother’s apartment, who is now gone to vespers. A small stair, as you k.'.ow, leads from her chamber to his sleeping-room : we cannot be surprised ; and we can easily conceal the weapon in the folds of our robes.” The princess of Nevers had listened in si lence, with a blush on her cheekr she had in voluntarily pressed the hand of her friend—a gentle hope seemed unconsciously to arise in , her mind and to be reflected in her looks ; but ; suddenly calming her emotion, she exclaimed, : “To tb.e Duke’s chamber. Oh ! never—ne ver will I do that which would call a blush ; into my cheek, even though undetected; I will , never do that which the whole world might I not behold. Would Renee of France advise s her friend to do what she conceives to be be. j neath hey own dignity ?’’ ] “ Had I the same inducement, Diana, I would not hesitate an instant.” “ I cannot.” i “ And you believe me capable of leading my friend into a snare I would myself avoid? ( Give me the sword, I will myself place itun. der his pillow.” “You! the sister of the King, enter the chamber of the Duke !” ‘•And why not? He is not there. Come io the window ; see how busily the pages and servants are still occupied with the banquet. Come, I will take your place.” “O, Renee, bo prudent. Should any one meet you” “Accompany me only to the Duchess’s apart ment. Once there, all is easy. Ou the little stair leading to the Duke’s there is no chance of meeting any one. And should impossibili ties happen,” she added,“ a Princess may lose -o-xrj- +tt Ttrc ottTKq.asaages of the casUe as well as others.” “Do as you will then,” said Diana, “but re member your promise.” Tiiey soon reached the apartment of the Duchess, Renee, light as a nymph, with one finger placed on her smiling mouth, and the sword in her other hand, flew without hesita lion towards the door in the tapestry leading to the stair, and disappeared. Anxiously, and with beating heart, Diana awaited her return in the middle of the room ; she could not hear a footstep, so gently had the Princess ascended the stair. She counted, with anxiety, the mi nutes till her return, which was not long de layed; but instead of the noiseless step with I which she had mounted the stairs, Diana now ; heard her rush down the stair as it pursued. She burst into the room, glowing, breathless, almost sinking to the grouud but for the sup port of the sword which she still held in her hand, and with terror in her looks she threw j herselfinto the clasping arms of her friend. I “ What has happened ?” exclaimed the lai. i ter, al most on the point of fainting, like her I friend. { “Oh, nothing—nothing; and yet everything! Nothing that will betray you ; but I—l am lost, I And yet would I not exchange that moment foi I a crown.’ “Speak—Speak—l am dying with anxiety I and terror,” interrupted Diana. “ Oh! would I had died before this,” cried [ the princess, bursting out into a passion of tears. “ But stay—calm yourself—you shall hear I all. First, however, we must conceal the ; sword,” and seating herself, she enveloped it dexterously in the folds of her dress. “ Listen, ’ then. I reached the Duke’s chamber. The I atmosphere felt faint and sultry—l never was < conscious of such a feeling of oppression. I j summoned up courage, however, and stool for I a moment listening under doorway. All ; was still around me—not a hush. Alas, it I was a treacherous stillness. I advanced to ! wards the bed with a stealthy pace. I drew ! back, with hasty hand, the silken cuitains. I The chamber, as you know, fronts the west. I The last ruddy rays of the setting sun illumi nated the couch. Oh ! conceive my terror!— here he lay.’ “ How ?—who ? The Duke ? Oh ! my God !’l “No!—the graceful page, Caussade de St. Megret. The lazy page, tired with hunting, and, perhaps, unwilling to he caught asleep by | his fellow-servants, had availed himself of his master’s absence at the banquet to enjoy an j hour upon bis bed. I had never had an op portunity of seeing him so near—vo exactly. And now 1 comprehended why I had found tho air ofthe apiuUneut so sultrv so oppressive.” “ And you hurried away immediately,” cried : Diana, clasping her hand. ■ Renee shook her head. “I could not, at ! ! first. I was fettered—fascinated” and she j ; paused. I | “ But why did you hurry back in such tcr- i ror, Princess?” > “Ho awoke. Nay, start not. He did not I recognise me. As he opened his eyes I van- I ished. He may have observed my flight, but i ere be could raise himself from the couch I I was gone. Chide me not, Diana ; it was done | through love of thee.” i “ But -ot through my wish, Princessthen : changing her tone of displeasure to one of deep | pity—“ Alas! Renee,” said she, as she wit- ■ nessed the agitation of her friend, “ If this be l love, I thank God for that coldness of heart I with which you reproached me. Cold it is not; but it knows no flame like this. You terrify me. You love an adventurer, of whom the Duke himself, it appears, knows little. i though he conceals his ignorance in a veil of j mystery, that he may not appear to have been | guilty of a foolish action. Renee, Princess, flunk ofthe consequences.” “ The consequences!” repeated Renee, bold ly. “ I will tell you what they will be. First, a brief, happy dream of love, then a long and hapless marriage. I will secure some mo ments of happiness first, that I may have sti-ength to bear my misery afterwards. Fear me not, though I am made of different mould from thee. Your friend, and the sister of a king, will not forget her rank ; but to see him —to listen to the accents of his voice—to speak to him” “Speak to him !” exclaithcd Diana, in ter ror. “ Not w ith words; but I fear my glances have spoken long before. Listen, Diana; »t was but lately the King communicated to me that the second son of the King of England, the Duke of ah > what care I for the name— is a suitor for my hand. His picture will ar rive immediately. Short is the space, then, allowed me to be my own mistress. If I lose il” “ But if some spy-—ifthe King himself” “The King ! I fear him not. We have no thing to fear from the jealousy of any one ex cept Gonzaga; and against his jealous ob servation a beloved friend knows how to guard us.” “ I!” cried Diana, with anxiety. “ Why that look of terror ? I ask not much. I ask you only, as before, to be by my side—to follow my footsteps—to watch my glances— to let hirn dwell upon your f tee when jealous observers are by; be my protecting spirit, if you will not be the patron of my love.” Reconciled, but not calmed, Diana with drew from her friend’s embrace to her cham ber. The lively temperament of her friend— the recklessness with which she was accus tomed to give free play to her inclinations, wure not calculated to remove the fear she felt of some unfortunate issue, and it was with an anxious heart and gloomy presentiments that she retired to rest. Renee, on the contrary, would readily have regained her ordinary light-heartedness, had not her apprehensions been awakened again by an unfortunate discovery. In undressing, she found she had lost a white silk sash, with a gold clasp ornamented with rubies, which had been the gift of her royal brother, and which the beauty of the workmanship would have enabled any one easily to recognise. She thought of her hasty retreat from the Duke’s bedroom, and began to fear she might hi.vc dropt it on the stair, or even in the room itself. In this case it might have fallen i to the hands ofthe Duke or of a servant, who could hardly be expected to conceal the discovery, and thus a detection might take place which would be attended with the most disagreeable conse quences. So terrified was she that she did not even dare to consult Diana; but paying an early morning visit to the Duchess’s apart ment, she carried her eyes vainly into every corner; listened to every, whisper among the attendants, but still without hearing of any thing having been found; and now the cer tainty that the sash must have been dropt out side the Duchess’s room, increased her anxie tx. Neither ihiajdax nor the following did any thing occur to throw light upon its disap pearance. On the third day the King had another hunting party ; but this time the Prin cess had not the heart to watch their depar ture. In the mean time it had occurred to her as possible, that tho missing ornament might have fallen into the hands either of some cov etous servant, orlh.it per'.tps some more trus ty attendant, knowing or suspecting its owner, was only wai'ing a proper opportunity of plac ing it again in her hand. Allowing her friend then to attend the Duch «ss that morning, she herself, under some pre text, took her away towards a gallery which connected her apartments with those of the King, and to which the way fed through one or two narrow and solitary passages. As she was passing through one of these, Caussade suddenly presented himself before her. She had supposed him at the hunt, and was struck dumb by his unexpected appearance. What was her consternation, however, when, after casting a hasty glance around him, be knelt down, ami without uttering a word, presented to her the sash tho ruby clasp. W hat she Wiuid have snatched with avidity *ro»a n ny other hand, she allowed to remain for Some moments in his. His evident conviction that she was its owner, his position, his si lence, all announced to her that he had recog nised her in the Duke’s apartment, and sh-. felt horrorstruck at the conclusion he might have drawn from her 1 presence there.— She ventured not to ask a question or to deign to him a lock either of censure or of thanks; as she stretched out her arms to receive the sash, the hands of both trembled so that they involuntarily touched each other; and the ear of the agitated Princess caught the words, whispered soli and low, “I alone know of the discovery, and I am silent and true.” The words pointed too plainly towards the suspicion of a secret understanding between the Princess and the Duke, to allow Renee to hesitate a moment in putting an end to the sus picion. At first, however, her offended dig nify could not find words. “It is well then for your master,” said she gravely, “ that you are so. To me you owe nothing, farther than that respect which my sex if not my dignity de tnands. That respect might teach you to be lieve that nothing but a mistake could have fed my steps from the apartment of the Duchess’ mother to that of her son; my very agitation i on discovering vou might have convinced vou of this.” I She paused, she could not proceed; a deep blush purpled her checks, and, unknown to her- i self, a look betrayed to Caussade what the i mouth ofthe Princess would not for worlds have revealed to him. 11 was true she had been discovered. Caus | sade had scarcely laid himself down on the : Duke’s bed, when he heard the tapestry pushed j aside. Fearful of being surprised, he had J drawn the curtains hastily together, and looked ' through the small opening still left. The open j and almost smiling countenance of the Pt in cess ; the drawn sword in her hand, the haste 1 and anxiety with which she approached the bed, wore an enigma_to him. Her terrcron discovering him changing the srnie moment into a look of too expressive admiration, flat ! tered his excited fancy too much not to quench ' every jealous suspicion which her appearance fhe’e mijrht have at first awakened; and her sudden flight, when he pretended to awake, served to confirm the pleasing conclusions he had drawn. “I was aware,” ho replied, without losing his presence of mind, notwithstanding the se verity ofthe Princess’s tone, “ I was aware the instant you fled that your entrance was the con sequence of mistake. And the proof that I did so, is that I did not mention to my master what I had found—as I should otherwise have : thought rnyeelf bound to do, and that I had i Vol. V—M®. «. been vainly seeking au opportunity for two days past of restoring it to you.” “ I thank you,” said the Princess in a milder tone, “and will not forget your discretion. “O, Princess,” sighed he, still kneeling,“if Vou are cot in truth offended with me, leave me a memorial of this hour, the sweetest of my life—when I was first permitted to ex change words with you. Take tite jewels, but leave me this silken baud, valueless to you— to me of priceless, value.” Aias! poor Renee was in no condition to chide. Her thoughts were all confusion; ter. ror, delight, maidenly shame, the recollections of her rank, crossed and bewildered each other; at last, in a tone, to which she endeavored ta impart as much of coldness and indifference as she could throw into the words, she said, “Keep the whole it is enough for me to know that it is iu safe hands.” She said no more ; she hurried from him r« she had done before, but with n look more elo quent than any confession in words. He sprang up, and would have pursued her, but at that instant he heard the door closed and bolted be. hind her. He paused for a moment, as if in thought. “No!” he exclaimed, “I were a monster if, after that look, I could believe in any connection with Gonzaga ! Now my dee. tiny is decided.” And he hurried from the gallery. When the Princess again reached her cham ber, she sank exhausted into a seat. Agita. tion, repentence, shame, ccntended in her mind ; but she could not but feel that at last every feeling merged in one of satisfaction, al most of transport. She determined to conceal this last secret even from her friend, tvho had no difficulty in discovering, notwithstanding, from her agitated embrace, and unconscious reveries, that something remarkable had taken place- in the mean time the portrait of the English Prince arrived. It represented a young man, the unpleasing expression of whose features the painter had used all his art to disguise, but with partial success. Even the adroit repre sentations of the ambassador, who requested, the princess to suspend her judgment till the arrival ofthe original, on the ground that no. thing but extreme haste could have induced him to present to her a portrait which did tho Prince so much injustice, failed to remove th« unfavorable impression which the miniature itself had produced. In the present excited state of the Princess’s mind, even the disadvan tages ot the Prince’s external appearance seemed rather to afford matter for satisfaction; ami among her confidential friends she ventur ed to give vent to her satirical opinions on the subject, with a freedom which induced the Duchess-mother to remonstrate with her in the most serious manner on her conduct. The King, before whom she took no'rouble to dis guise her sentiments, measured her with a gloomy expression, but remained silent. He seemed less imperious than wont, but more suspicious, more irritable; a state of mind which was perhaps to be accounted for. or at least was naturally increased, by the evil tidings which he at thia time received of the ftite nf the Neopohtan campaign, in which his army, it appeared, had been completely defeated, mu. ny of his nobility killed, among others the two Princes de Nevers, the brothers of Diana. This intelligence, deeply as il grieved the heart of Diana, of course put an end to those pro jects of a conventual life, which her family had entertained for her in her childhood. She became immediately, as might be ex pected, the “cynosure of neighboring eyes,” the object of adoration at couri. By the death ot her brothers her fortune hud now become enormous. No alteration, however, was ob servable in her demeanor,except that her friend observed that her gentle eye seemed secretly to rust ofiencr than before on Gonzaga, who with a corresponding anxiety seemed to avoid her glance. (To be continued.) LINES ON THS DEATH OF GEN. »AN IEE OZLEVi.V, OF J 2IF. HE VOLITICN* AHI WAR. SY 9EOXQE F. MORAM. Let not a tear be shed! Ofgr.ef give not a token. Although the silver thread And golden bowl be broken! A warrior lived—a Christis-a died ! Sorrow’s forgotten in our pride ! Go, bring his battle biado. His helmet and his plume ' And be his trophies laid Beside him in the tomb, Where files of time-marked vetsrane eoine With martial tramp and muffled drum ! Give to the oar.h, his frame, To moulder and decay; But not his deathless name— That connot pass away! In youth, in manhood, and in age. He dignified his country's page I Green be the willow bongh Above the swelling mtjunl. Where sleeps the hero now In consecrated ground t Thy epitaph, oh Delevan! God’s noblest work—an honest man t [From the Court Journal.] The Foreign Sybil and the British Statesmen. ‘For it is not the past alone that has its ghost; each event to come has also its spectrum— its shade ; when the hour arrives, life enters it, I the shadow becomes corporeal, and walks the world. Thus, in the land beyond the grave, are ever two impalpable and spectral hosts, tho thugs to be, the things that have been.—God olphin. At Paris, during the early part of the year 1827, and the autumn of 18’28 and 1829, resi ded a lady, whose pretensions and pvrforman. I ces caused no slight sensation among the nov. | elty seeking coteries of that gsy Capitol, j Madame cluFrambaud was a woman advanced 1 in years, plain in appearance, and grave in address. She spoke in the tone and diction of one who had been accustomed to move in the higher grade of society : of her descent, con nexions, plans and resources, no one seemed able to glean the slightest information. She professed to unveil the future ; and though her fee was gold, and though she saw those only who waited upon her with a formal introduction from a previous client, Fhe equipages that were found loitering near her spacious dwelling in R. u do la Paix chez la Barriere du Roule contained halfthe beauty and haut ton of Paris. And as the information she gave was partial and related to two epochs only in life of those who consult her—marriage and death. She would place before you the lively scenes and gay appendages of the one ; and the langoyr, gloom, and restlessness ofthe other. Ou usi-