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BY JAMES W. JONES. The Southern Whig, PCUHUO rIV :RY 3A.rtTltDA¥ MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fiist 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 for less than one year, unless the money is paid in advance; and nt paper will be discontinued until ah arrear ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. Ail 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 days previous to the day of sale. Tho 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 «>f Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne g.oes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters" of Dismission, «ix months. For Advertising —Letters of Citation. 8 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 of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of sin' 11 type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, ano 50cents for ea'ch weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 rents for each continuance. If once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement. For a single ‘insertion, 81 00 per square. . PROSPECTTS OF A NEW LITERARY JOURNAL, I ENTITLED THE BACHELOR’S BUTTON. THE Second Number of this Periodical is now before the Public. The very kind fa vor with which it has been accepted prompts the Editor to make renewed exertions to place the work on a firm foundation, mid to make it worthy of the patrpnage it is likely to receive. No effort was made to obtain subscribers, no publicity was given to the design, until the first number was ready for distribution, —because the Editor was unwilling to make promises which he might 'ie unable to fulfil; and he was anxious that the public, before it gave encour agement or approbation, should see’he work, ■“and have an opportunity to judge of its merits. A short notice of the Editor’s intentions and •wishes accompanied the first number, and the approbation and indulgence with which his friends and the public generally received it, gave, to him hopes which he had not previously in dulged. That Alabama would give a handsome sup port to such a publication was a matter es ex treme doubt; —owing more to h< f commercial and agricultural enterprise, than to any want of liberality, or to the absence of a spirit for lit erary advancement. But the avidity with which fortune has been hunted down, has not taken away the taste of her Schol is; —and the increase of wealth has produced the best of all results: the opening of the heart, and the gushing forth I of the best of feelings: generosity, and a desire i to promote every laudable enterprise. The Bachelor’s Button is the only period- : ical in the State devoted entirely to Original Li- I tefatuie. It is printed in a handsome style— | (not inferior in that respect to the best m the ! country.) The very medium of publication is I calculated to inspire young ambition to vigor- J ous exertion, and to make the old and experien- ] ced writer happy in the privilege of sending j thoughts into the world in such a garb. Alaba ma has talent—talent of an order calculated to I command the admiration of her, neighbors, however old their experience ; however celebra- I ted their Literati. It is the proudest wish of! the Editor that he may call that talent into ac-I tive exercise; yet he cannot hope to be able to I do that without the hearty approbation of his friends, and their earnest concurrence in promo ting a cause for whose succ-ss he is willing to devote his entile time and attention. A Liter .ry Advertiser will be attached to the Bachelor’s Button, containing Notices which relate to Schools, Colleges, Books, Banks, Insu- I rance Companies, &c at the following rates: For one insertion, per page, 810 00 “ “ “ 1-2 page, 600 ** “ “ 1-4 page, 400 By tho year, per page, 60 00 “ “ “12 page, 80 00 “ “ “ 1-4 page, 15 00 This arrangement will not interfere with tho literary department, as the advertising sheets will be entra. Persons wishing to advertise in the third Number, will send in their notices im mediately. , Mr W. W. McGuire is our City Agent, and is authorised to act for us. Any letter ot com munication left at Ins Book Store, will receive immediate attention. TERMS—“The Bachelor’s Button” will be published Monthly in the City of Mobile, in a pamphlet containing 64 large octavo pages of entirely original matter, on fine paper, and on new and clear type, at Five Dollars a year, payable in advance. Editors friendly to the work will please publish this circular. WM. R SMITH, Editor and Proprietor VALUABLE LANDS FOR SALE? rpHE Subscriber offers for sale Thirty-one thousand \cres of Land, situated in the Counties of Baker. Early, Lee, Slewart, Sump ter and Randolph. These Lands lie in bodies of5001"3000 Acres the largest and most valuable part of them have been selected bv the best judges, and are situated in the second District of Baker county. Per sons desirous of purchasing, can ascertain the quality and location of the lands by applying to the subscribers—to John Williams, Esq. and Col. 11. R. Ward of Milledgeville, Col. H. H Tarver of Twiggs county, or to John Rawls Esq. of Hawkinsville. Mr. Wm. Dennard is authorized to sell and make titles to the above lands; his residence is in the second district of Baker county, and he will be ready at all timee to shew them. ~ .. J - COWLES. Macon, March 4,—44—tf LAW BLAm For Sale at this Office. Southern Whig JWsceltaiuotw. From Waldie’s Literary Omnibus, k THE RETRCSPECT OF AGE. r 1 know not, and I care not how Tlje hours may pass me by, Though each may leave upon my brow A furrow as they fly. ■ What matters it ? each still shall take One link from off the chain Which binds me to this grievous stake !. * Os sorrow and of pain. ’ Time like a rower plies his oar, And all his strokes are hours, 1 Impelling to a better shore j Os sunshine and of flowers. I’ve tasted all that life can give Os pleasure and of pain; 1 And is it living, thus to live When joys no more remain ? All nature has had charms for me, , The sunshine and the shade, i The soaring lark, the roving bee, The mountain, and the glade. r I've played with being as a toy, Till things .have lost their form, Till danger has become a joy, , And joy become a storm, I've loved as man has seldom loved, t So deeply, purely, well; . I’ve proved what man has seldom proved, Since first from bliss he fell. i Mine eye again can never see What once mine eye has seen ; This world to me can never be , What once this world has been. Speed, then, oh! speed, my bark, speed on, Quick o'er life's troubled waves, The one that comes—the one that’s gone, What is beneath them? Graves.” From the Metropolitan Magazine. The Gambler’s Fate. A TRUE TALE OF AN ITALIAN NOBLEMAN. A? the duchess was sitting alone one even ing in her dressing-room, the duke, her hus band, being then at the Ho’ se of Lords, her brother Paleotti suddenly opened the door, and I stood before her, with looks so wild and disor dered as to startie her not a little. His hair was unpowdered and dishevelled, hislitien soil ed, and his whole appearance slovenly, and different from what she had ever before seen it. “ Magdaline I must have cash—instantly, or I'm e..tiiely ruined. “Good heavens, Ferdinand !'* said the duch ess, much alarmed ; “ what can be done ? The duke, you know, is not at home, and I cannot —indeed I cannot —command more than fifty pounds at this moment; but if that will do, you shall have it.” As she spoke, Magdaline rose to go to her scrutoiro ; but Paleotti, laying his hand upon her arm, said hurriedly, “No, uo, it will not do ; I must have at least fiv» hundred pounds.” “ Aon cannot have what it is not in my pow er to give you,” said she, mildly but firmly. “Then take the consequences!” said the marquis, drawing a stiletto from his breast. Magdaline screamed; “Oh, Ferdinand! dear Ferdinand ! what do you mean ?” “To have the money 1 require, or destroy myself before the unnatural sister who will not help me- in my ueea. Once again, hear me, ! Magduii.ie, my necessity for that sum is mon than pressing. I must have it or die; for I will not survivejmy dishonor. You have jew els :—give me them :—I can raise money upon them to answer my present purpose.” Magdaline was silent. Paleotti sini’ed bit > terly. “ You pause betwixt your love for these | baubles and my life. Come, no trifling ! Yes. ’or no!’ and he extended his band that grasped i the stiletto. | “ Indeed, indeed, you should have the jew. | els,” cried the agitated duchess; “ with the I duke’s sanction, I would most freely give them; but in his absence, to —to” j • Will you give me them or not?” cried the marquis impatiently, and elevating his voice ; j “ this delay maddens me;” and his dark eye ' flashed like tho red lightning on the stormy I deep. The duchess spoke not; but going into an adjoining closet, returned immediately with a , little ivory casket in her hands. Paleotti put forth his hand to take it. “Stop,” said Magdaline, “I must open it first.” Then applying a small key that hung at her watch chain, she lifted up the lid and displayed to the eager eyes of her brother the splendid set of diamonds with which the duke had presented her on her marriage. A su perb tiara of brilliants, necklace, earrings, stomacher, and breast-k- ots of the same pre cious gems, Magdaline took out, one by one, and gave into Puleotti’s hand. At the bottom of the casket lay the miniature likeness of the duke, set round with a triple row of brilliants. Magdaline wept for some moments after her brother’s departure. Her heart was full of trouble. She feared she had done wrong in giving the jewels to Paleotti. The duke would blame her for her weakness: yet what could she do when her brother’s life w-s at slake? “Ah!” said she, “I was like poor Eve: my best guide was not with me to help me, to help my weaker judgment: and so, overcome by my fears and affections, I gave away the gifts ot my dear husband’s love mto hands—ho.v unworthy!” Thus lamenting and blaming herself did Magdaline pass the time till the duke’s return, to whom she was resolved to tell the whole of the unfortunate business : her noble and ingen uous nature disdaining all subterfuge and con cealment from a husband, duty and affection alike prompted occasions, to disclose both her motives of them. Ihe duke was the disclo- sure of .Puleotti’s to obtain the jewels, and despised the unmanly threats by which he had worked upon the feelings of a sis ter. Howi v< rcut of ccntidcratiuu ol IntfMag daline, he forbore to notice the marquis’s con duct in the way it merited, contenting himself with giving her money to redeem the jewels; which she promised to do, solemnly assuring the duke that her brother should never have them from her again. “Were your brother merely extravagant in the pursuit of his pleas ures,” said the duke, “ I should less object to affording lum such repeated supplies, hoping that time would open his eyes to the folly ol his conduct; but Paleotti is not only a man of pleasure but a gamester—a character, which, of all others, I deprecate, as being obnoxious j alike to all principles of justice and feelings of | humanity. You might as well expect to move i the impenetrable reck as to soften the hard I “WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT 13 THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. ”—Jej/er«O». heart ofth" gamester, —a man who lives by tho immolation of his fellow mtn, and who upon the altar of a most cold blooded selfihnees, would sacrifice all the world without a pang.” Magdaline felt the truth of the duke’s re marks: but still the thought of her brother’s situation was a great affliction to her tender nature ; for with all his faults, she loved him with a sister’s love. Her thoughts, however, were soon called off from her brother to a dear and more deserving object, one who indeed merited all her fears. Au incurable disease attacked her soul’s idol, her beloved husband and excited in her mind an intense agony of fear. She tended him with all the unceasing care and assiduity that a fervent and devoted love alone can prompt, but, alas! in vain : The Duke of Shrewsbury was gathered to Ins fathers and the dark dark curtain of eternal se paration in this world dropped between two that had never willingly separated even for a brief day, of their wedded lives. After the death of the duke, Magdaline felt that she must shut her heart against tha fre quent applications of her brother for money to defray his gambling debts. She therefore de termined to leave Loudon, and parting with her town mansion, to seek among nature’s qui et shade for that peace rhe world cannot give. ****** One morning as the duchess was returning from the city, where she had been shopping, and just as htr carriage entered Leicester! Square, a vast mob of persons, of all descrip tions, came rushing along, and blocking up j every avenue, so that the coachman was oblig ed to rein in his horses and draw up to a shop door, till the dense mulytude had swept past. Followed by the shouts and hisses of the mob. a mau was now seen led, or rather dragged between two constables. His hat was off, and from the glimpse Magdaline had of his figure, she could perceive it was no vulgar per son. Presently they came near to the carriage, —so near that tjie-criminal’s face was fully seen by the duchess. It was Paleoitti! Ut iering a piercing scream, Magdaline fell back fainting at the side of Agues, who called loudly for help. The footman coming to the window, and seeing the state of his mistress, ran into the shop at which the carriage stood. “ Poor lady !” said the young shopwoman, who brought out a glass ; “ si.e was frightened, I suppose, at the mob.” “Yes,” answered the footman; “do you know what the man has done that they are dragging to prison?” “No” said tho girl, “they could not tell me.” “ ’Tis one Lord Pallihoty, or some such out. kindish name,” said a countryman standing by. “He’s one from (he popish country. He out with his sword mid stabbed his poor devil of a servant in cold-blooded malice; because he had brought him no money from somebody he had sent him to. The poor fellow said so,just as he was a dying, to a constable.” “ Oh ! he’ll get off presently, if a duchess is his sister,” said a bystander. “I don’t know that,” said the countryman 'hrustiug his brawny hand into his breeches pockets; “there’s been lords hanged afore now, is good as this fellow. I’d walk some distance to see the halter put round his neck— that I would; a cowardly rascal to attack a man without giving him a fair chance for his life ! Depend upon it he’ll swing at Tyburn.” “ Poor man said the young shop-woman “ what a pity !” “Pity, mistress!” echoed the countrymen contemptuously: “what’s a lord more than mother man? For my part I think poor Jack Sheppard, that’s to be hanged, a king to such a fellow!” It may be easily imagined in what state of mind the. duchess returned to her own house, where Mr. Talbot, her counsel shortly after wards waited upon her to break, in as delicate way as possible, the distressing event, and 01 which he had gained a more particular ac count. Finding, however, that tho widowed sister of Paleotti was fully prepared fertile tale of horror he confirmed the truth of the vulgar report. The marquis, being entangled by one of his gaming debts had directed poor Claude to go and borrow s itne money. After meeting with repeated denials, Claude returned to his master, who was walking in the street, to re. port his ill success. Paleotti then told him to, go again to one person, who had before refused. Cluude entreated to be excused, and the mar quis still commanding him. he at last positively necliued to go : when drawing his sword, Pa leotti in the rage of his demoniac pride, killed his defenceless and faithful servant on the spot. As the foul deed was done in the open day, . and crowded street of the metropolis, Paleotti was soon secured, and committed to prison to take his trial at the ensuing sessions. Painful as was the task, Magdaline detei min ed to visit her guilty bro her. Mr. Talbot at- < tended her to the prison; speaking, as they , went, such words of consolation, kindly meant though ineffectual, as friends usually have re course to, in the seaaon-of affliction. She had i no hope of her biother’s life. Ina strange i country, without interest or powerful friends, to arrest the uplif ed arm of the law, there was ; no ground for hope. Since the Duke ofShrews- I bury’s death, his widowed duchess hud be came a cipher in the great world. The sym- < pathies of those who had formerly flocked to partake of the hospitality ami gayety of his en- I tertainments, were diverted into other chan- i nels, and expended upon newer objects. With- < out pride, ami truly pious Magdaline felt less I the death that awaited Paleotti, than the tm- ! prepared state of his soul to meet that awful hour. “Merciful, but just God!” said she, < looking upward, “into thy hands do I commit the cause ofmy wretched brother. Thou alone < canst tell the measure of his guilt—alone sift 1 the motive of every deed ; for none but thou canst look into the secret heart, and decide the i degree of its innocence or criminality. Yet, i O ! fear I me, io thy sight my brother is con detuned, beyond the condemnation of men— , beyond all hope, but in the Redeemer’s blood,) ( to'wash out and efface his offence from the : books of thy judgments.” 1 When the duchess reached the prison, where < Paleotti, like the chained lion of the woods, i was maddening with rage and bitterness against i his bonds, she became so faint that Mr. Tai hot tried to persuade her to reli iqnish a trial so painful to her. “No, uo,” said she, recover- i im> herself, following the turn-key. “I must , see him.” Paleotti was silting on the side of bia rude bed, his dress soiled and neglected, i and his hair hanging wildly over his pale and i disordered visage. He took but little notice , of .Magdaline,on her fu>t entrance ; for like all ; men u hose conscience has been darkened bv i a long course of vice, be laid tho grevter per i tion of his guilty actions upon her a id other s friends," ho-bv withholding from him the means ■ ! for his prodigality, had (ns he endeavored t<, persuade himself) led to tho distress which eo- : | in the murder us hu- fJthful servaut. ATHEYS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JUNE 24, I *37. j Paleotti was bitter in his invcc ives against 1 the laws of the country, ami complained of tin , injustice that hud been done him. “What! ’ said he to Mr. Talbot, “is a nobkman to be . imprisoned, tried, and condemned like a low , born malefactor? Are these your boasted r laws, of which the English prate so proudly to i other nations? Am I, the desce .daut and re , presentative of one of the noblest families of r Italy, to be amenable to your English laws, 1 and judged by your plebian jury, for killing my > own servant? Is a mere slave-—is the bfe of I one who wears the budge of Servitude, to be f put on a level with that of a man of my rank ?” From such conversation as tl/is, Magdaline saw the real state ofher brother’s mi d to be ■ auythig but one of sorrow and repentance for i the crime he had committed; and that pride, . always his besetting sin, seemed to gather up i all its dark and hostile array to banish hit, i thoughts from that heaven to which she had hoped his imprisonment might Uave drawn nearer. Still her affection aud Christian pity led her daily to his cell, where her sisterly care provi ded all things conducive to his bodily comfort. At lust the day of trial arrived, anti Puleotti ap. peared at the bar, to submit his fate to the im partial decision of twelve honest men—a mode of investigation very different from any thing he had ever witnessed or heard of in his own country. He had the advice of the most emi | nent counsel, and their assistance in drawi ig up his defence; but all was unavailing. The j jury pronounced the awful verdict of guilty, which at ance and irrevocably drvw the cur tain of an almost immediate separation be tween the cimiua! aud that world whose first and most general and solemn law he had dar ingly violated. The judge, after an aff-ctmg allusion to the abuse of God’s gifts of fortune, rank, and intellect, passed the retributive sen tence of death upon Ferdinand Marquis de Pa leotti, who was ordered for execution on thr 17th of March, it being then the 14th of that month. Overwhelmed with grief, Magdaline hasten ed immediately after the trial was over, to co > dole with her unhappy brother. She found him sullen and silent. A Roman Catholic priest was sitting beside him; and the con trast of the silver headed minister of God and the criminal, was striking in the extreme. In the countenance of the one were depicted peace resigna’ion. and hope ; in that of the other, the war of wild passions, impatient suffering, aud fearful doubt. VVheu Magdaline rose to go away, a slight convulsive movement appeared on tho lip of Paleotti, and the tone of his voice was soften ed, as he asked her if she vrould cwtne to see him on the morrow. The duchess bowed her head, tears obstructing her speech. Drawi g her veil over her face, she then folio ved th turnkey out ol the prison, and getting into her carriage. thr>-w herselt back, and indulged freely the grief that oppressed her. The nex morning on entering the cell, what was th • as tonishment of Magdaline to behold seated at ihe side of Paleotti, Ellen Conway. ' Oa see i g the duchess, Ellen burst into tears, and hi' her blushing and still lovely face with both h r hands. “Ellen, is it indeed you that I see? You, my once innocent Ellen 7” “ How, madam ?” said Paleotti, sternly, t<> bis sister, “do you come here only to upbraid the poor girl, whose love for me made her re mounce those sillv forms your women of boast ■d virtue value, from no better motive tha.i ap pearance?” “ 0 Ferdinand !” answered the duchess, “at tempt not to vindicate her conduct or your ow —and especially your own, in the seduction of an orphan, a friendless gi'l, whom you foil .<i innocent and happy, with i vory principle of virtue and every prospect of good. I sent her to a safe and honorable asylum, fiotn which you have decoyed her to her ruin—the ruin ot her character in this world—aud of her im mortal squl in the next.” “Ob, spare, spare me!’’ cried the weeping girl, throwing herself at Magclaliue’s feet. “ I have been—l am still—very guilty ; for, with all my wrongs, I love the marquis.” “ Ellen, my poor Ellen !” said the duchess, softly, and with great emotion, as she raised the kneeling girl, “my heart weeps tears of blood for you. But now, I thought 1 could endure tio de- per sorrow ; but this meeting has filled mv cup to oveiflowing.” A long pause ensued. Paleotti sate sullen and silent: Ellen spoke ti'-t but by her tears, i At last the duchess said, “You will go home i with me, Ellen ! my door?, my heart, are still open to you.” Paleotti looked moved to som< thing like feel ing. He ruse and paced the cell with quick and agitated step. Ellen spoke not, moved not; bit rested her head o.i the back of her chair, the big tears stealing through her clos edeyes. Magdaline rose to go away. “Come i Ellen.” At these words the poor girl started, and I clasping her hands forcibly together, exclaim- i ed, “Ono ! not now ; ask me not to go now. ; A little—very little while, and I will follow I you any where. Only let me stay with him i till—till ” tears obstructed her speech. i “ Yes, yee,” said Paleotti. hurriedly, •• let her i stay, sister, till I leave this cell fur ” ; Here a convulsive movement ot the marquis’s i features, betraved the inward agitation of his ; soul. The duchess drew her veil over her face, | and moved towards the door. Ellen fle ,v after I her, and seizing her hand, pressed it to her burning lips. i •• Bless—bless you !” said she, “ for the kind I offer to take home the poor lost Ell -n.” I “You will go with me, then?” said the < duchess, benevolently looking upon her through I her tears. < “Yes, indeed,” sobbed out Ellen ; to-mor- I row I will go home with y u—and die I” she i mentally ejaculated. i Magdaline never went to bed all that long < night, w hich preceded the dawn of th it awful t day, that was to close the hie and crimes of I a brother; and al the appointed hour for her t last visit to the cell of the noble criminal, the ' duchess, arrayed in deep mourning and leant g t upon the arm of Mr. Talbot, proceeded to the carriage, which drove offal a rapid pace to wards the prison. The marquis, attended by his confessor, was standing with folded arms, and eyes fixed up on the floor, when Magdaline entered the cell. With a pride so characteristic of him, h« had | taken unwonted pains with his person that ' morning. His hair was arranged with much < care, and his laced cravat and linen were of i the finest sorts.. He wore his full colonel’s 1 uniform, of the imperia! army ; and even those tin t did not know the man, nay, even those i who did, could not but melt ut the sight of so I graceful and noble looking a person, chai ed s hand to hand,, and foot to foot, like a commo i malefactor. A little behind Paleotti, and seat- ; cd on a low etoolfh’. r head muffled up i>j the J i ho *d that helped to disguise her pallid looks, wan with grief and night Watchings, sate the ! most mournful figure in that mournful group— the poor heait-bioke.i Ellen. The unhappy Paleotti spoke not; and the 1 duchess, after regarding him for some tun > with wistful looks, said, “ Oh, my brother! nave you any Cammands —any wishes which I’ ,1 can fulfil? Speak, dear Ferdinand! all you 1 , wish done, I will do:—any thi ig—every thing you can require.” ” The marquis then mentioned Elie.:, recoin- ! : mending her, in a very touching matmer, to her 1 cure. “Promisa me,” said he, “never to de sen her, for she has never deserted me.” Here the s bbi .gs of Ellen were audible. “I do promise you,” answered thr duchess, “that Ellen shall ever find iu me a friend and a sister.” “ Let me,” co tinned Paleotti, “have hon ourable burial, worthy of the illustrious race I sprang from.” As he spoke, bis dark eye flashed with all its wo.ited brilliancy, aud his pale cheek crim, so ied with the hue of health. Aias! how of. ten do we see family prit’e darting, like the grave-fed meteor, through the loop-holes of a mt d, destitute of all proper pride aud proper feeling. The great clock of the prison now struck, and its deep sonoraus warning Was equally felt by all. The priest crossed himself devoutedly : the marquis became pale and thoughtful; and Magdaline and Ellen covered their faces, and wept. Another hour, and that u .happy ma . would be led forth to the gaze of the rude rab ble even then gathering from all parts of the metropolis, to witness th.it sight, of all others the most appalling to a thi.iki g mind—the launching of a guilty soul, by a violent and yet a judicial death, upon the dark and fathomless waters of eternity. Th priest now broke si lence. “My son. there is but little time left you: the last sand of life ts running to waste 11 this conflict of feelings, painful to all and yielding to none those sweet and holy fruits that should sanctify the approach! ig trial.— Take leave of your friends, and let us give the 1 is: hour to Him who has given you so many, that you might have tune and opportu >ity to know all the wonders of his mercy to merciless men.” The parting between the brother and sister was brief, but solemn and touching. Manda rine wept upon his bosom, prayed, and blessed turn; and implored him, in the name of the Saviour, to lift up his heart to him, who was above all earthly judges, and all mortal kings. Next came Ellen, the lust of lovt g ones to look upon his features—the last to fbrg< tthem. Wild was her look, and wilder still her actions, SI e clasped his neck, us if by her ch.igi.ig i here, could have saved it from the ignominious eord. She kissecfhis tettered'lu.ids ; she k elt down and embraced his manacieU knees; a.d with a voice heart-rending to hear, caHed up >.■ him, as if he had only been going 0.. an earthly journey, to love her, and remember how she had given up all for him. The priest then • pproached, (impatient of delay) a.<d gently drew her away, waving for the duchess to fol low. But Ellen, strong in affection, bur.-t from the holy man, and exclaiming, “ Oh, let me look upon his tucu ugai..—once ugam !’’ rushed to wards the spot w here Puleotti stood, and fell senseless at his feet. In this lifeless state she was borne to the carriage, and the duchess fol lows g, Puleotti was left alone with his con fessor. In a short time they came to knock o. the irons of the noble criminal, still wet with ihe tears of Ellen, and then, preceded by the priest bearing the crucifix, Puleotti got into the coach, w hich in courtesy, was allowed him, and was driven to 1 yburu. When arrived at the fatal spot, Paleotti’s de meanour under other circumstances must have won the applause of all ge..erous mills. As- Ccudi .g th< scaffold with a firm step, he stood erect and dignified, looking calmly aiou. d at the countless beings that were gazing upon him ; then turning to the sheriffs lie requested his bod , might not be defiled by touching the bodies ot the u happy Englishmen doomed to suffer with him but that he might die b. fore them, and alone. This petition, so character istic of the foolish pride of acnstocracy, th sheriff’s granted, in court' sy to a stranger. After some little time spent at his devotions, at which the venerable priest, bare-heuded, with looks of gentle pity and holy zeal, assist ed, with lifted eyes, and hu ds elevuti g the symbol of redemptio , the cross, occasionally swept by his silver hairs, as he lowered it t>> receive the homage ot’his reverend lips, the ex ecutioner approached Puleotti; and while binding with a sash those free arms, that had o. ce been active in the field ol glory a flush of crimson passed over the pale cheek of the cri miual; and the wild flush of his dark ey<-, ti..d bending b.ickw urd his proud head, showed, like the reined courser, his dt.sdam of the curb. The priest spoke to bun, and lie became culm, had drooped his head upon his breast. The ignominious cord was next put urou.d his graceful neck, the u..sightly c. p dr .wn over his classic features, and then the handsome, the noble, and the accomplished Marquis de Pule otti, the ornament of the court, the pride camp, and the ido' of one bre.ki g heart, died amid the assembled thousands—in example to all of the justice of those glorious laws of En glishmen, that show no distinction bet ween the peer and the peasant, seei g that crime makes both equal. To conclude, the duchess, faithful to the pro mise given to her unhappy brother, treated El leu with all a sister’s sympathy and affectio ; but it was soon visable to every one that look ed upon the suffering girl, that earth would not long be herabidi g place. Silently she wast ed away to the mere shadow of her former beauty. Shame, deep shame, and deeper sor row, preyed upon her heart, as the worm feeds upon the flower, and destroys the delicate bloom of’its summer vests; and in a few weeks after the death of Puleotti, Ellen breatlied her last fl rewell sigh to that world that held nothing so dear to her as the unho’ oured grave of him whom she had loved to the.last, with all a wo. mu. .’s enduring te derness and fidelity. “ For man, every danger fond women will brave, . And, unchanged by adversity's blast, Bhe will share his dark prison, and cling io his grave, Loving on—loving on to the last." Mind your P's and. Q's. — The origi i of this phrase is not generally known. In ale-houses, where chalk scores were formerly marked up. on tho wall or behind the door of the tap-room, it was customary to put tlxnse initial letters at the head of every man’s account to show the umbel of pints and quarts for which he was in arrears; and we may presume many a friend, ly rustic to have tapped his neighbor on the shoulder, whe ihe was itidulgi ig too freely m his potations, and to have exchimed, as h pointed to the score, “ Giles! Giles !mi d your P’s and Q’s.” —Whan Toby, the learned pig,, was i ; the zemth of his popularity, theatrical peral career, wh-ther baski ig iu the sunlight wag, who atle dd th performance malicious- of prosperity or groin,ing beneath,the pressure ly set b' forc him some pe; s—a temp's ion of poverty, home retai s its supreme sway which the ammal could not resist, aid which over oar affections. Death may invade its immediately caused him to l<>we> his cue.—Th E :en-lik b .w. rs, misfortune may pay its uo pigexhibter rerno strated wiih the author of trie dly visits, but still our hearts cling to it the misschief upon th ■ Unfairness of whut he as th ivy to the dead oak. had dour. “I only wished,” said th- wag, If home appear more i>ter*sting at one time “to see if Toby minded his P’s and Q’s.” than another it in when we are overtaken by -I. ■i .. sickness among strangers. We have been at. The following beautiful lines, from the Rnickerbocher, t-.ieked by disease in unk .ow.f, lands, and we V* from the pen of Geckos W. Grsxnz, Esq., Amer- ve exp-.rienced thr pai falness, the unensi. tcan ■ uusul, at ome. ij 'SS, that arise 1 "the bosom of him who has RF.nE.nBRANCES. , . a- r i ti Oft at the hour when evening throw. a ™- v frora h ? me - How power- Its gathering shade o’er vale and hill. hI,S i ' bsenC ’* ‘ ' ,^ ht , U3 the ™ lue 8 While half the scene tn twilight glows. ? .“T "7 ''’7 COr, ’ ulta " nn/ “ ...... How dreplv h v w felt the want of a fa- _ n , m sun-ig t g ones tti . ther’s support o' of a >-ist. r’s love. And when The thought of all that we have been, sh( . f , v r d hijl , (er; whe , , hp aeetll . And hoped and feared on fife’s long way- ed op in£Z t() e(i;br iCe us; how h ., Ve PUr spir . Remembrances of joy and pain, il9 su R W|thin ~a at r „fl. . ct i«». „ that S’ran. Coxae mingling with the close of day. g rs u »i »teresv< d, u related str*ugc ra t would The distant scene of Youth’s bright dream, ia.v -air head upo . its last pillow! The smiling green, the rustling tree; <o dl" at h in I How agreeable it is to the The murmur of the grass-fringed stream, !« der f-eh &of the soul! What are all our The bounding of the torrent free- jou ney. gs; whut are all our wanderings if The friend, whose tender voice no more We _ C '’ ,7J u ’ U- 'T° ° Ur **7’ d ’ ! Shall sweetly thrill the listening ear, -Should duty, business or fate keep us from _, , , T , • th< societv of <>ur relatives, through life, we The glow that Love’s first vision wore, ... . . ~ . . ’ , will not c re; but wbe disso uttou appreach. And Disapputntment’s pangs—are here. . i. k .l t . i . k -C J «s, I fus b at home. Let our last breath be But soft o’er each reviving scene draw., i i the place where our you g hearts The chastening hues of Memory spread; bat w *'h expectatio .8, let our last 10-k be up. And smiling dark though: between, th ' ,Be wh ‘ ,s cou tenances We first saw, let Hope softens every tear we shed. our pilgrimage end where it commenced. O thus, when Death's long night come on, ■ And its dark shades around me lie. From the American Monthly for June. May parting beams from Memory’s sun rose to The DEAD. Blend softly in my evening sky! >Y sigourxxy. .Ilirab au. Ch iteaubri tnd thus baldly sketches off the the likeness of Mini beau, the ge.ius of the Revolution: “ Connect' d by the excesses and accidents of his Ilf- with the most remarkable events, and with the existence of felons,, ravishers, nod adventurers, Mirab an, the .nbu.ie of aris tocracy, tlie deputy of d inocracy. p <rtook of the characters of Gracchus >.;d D<> Ju ti, of Catali lea td Guzma i d’AI ifarach--, of Cardi nal de Richelt. u and Cardinal d ■ Retz, of ihe profligate of the rege cyan I the s v.geof the Revolution ; there moreover flowed in his v< ins the blood “f the-Mir b 'aus, a exiled Floren tine family, which r tai .ed somewhat of those armed pal ices and thus? great f.ictio s illus trated by Date ; a Fre ch naturalized famtlt, in which the r -publicti spirit of Italy duri g the middle ages, and the f udal spirit of our ow . middle age, were found combi red i.i u successio of extraordinary men. “Th- ugliness of Mirabeau, laid upon a grou d of b auty, for u hich his race was dis tinguished, produced a itn-ag «f one of the powerful figures i. the Last Judgment of Mi chm l Angelo, the compatriot of Arrigh iti. The ma.ks 1.-ft by rhe small-pox <> the orator’s face rather bore the appeara c- of sc rs oc casio .ed by fire. Nature seemed to have t mould d his h -ad for > tnpire or the gibbit, to have shaped his arms for the pU'-pos of cub tug a natio i or carryi g off a woin.i.i. When I he shook his mane, with his ey-s fixed upon the mob. he suddenly checked th ir progress; when he raised his foot and show d his claws, th'y ra . furiously. Amidst the most frightful riot, of a sit t g, I have seen hitn tn th.- tribu e, . dark, hideous, aud motio less; he remi d d s me of the Chaos of Milton, impassibl and t shapeless—the centre of his own confusion. “Twice did 1 me t Mirabeau at an enter , taimnetit; on one occasion at the house <>f Volt.tire’s neice, the Marchio ess de Viilett- ; on another, at th • Palais Royal, with deputies . of the oppositio ~ with whom Chapelai had tnad me acqu i .ted. Chapelai. w. s co..vey [ eu to the s> tiff >ld O ' the same tumbr I wiih M. . de Mai sh« ibes a- dmy <>wti brother. , “Our discusst'i-i after di tier turn d upmi | the subj ct <>f Mirabeau’s e .cmies ; I happeo . ed to be next to him; aud, with the litnidty of , a > oung mu., u known t<> all, h>d not uttered a word. H look dme full in the face with his eyes of wickedness and ge ius, and, layt gins broad hand upo . mv should, r, said, *'hev wt'l never forgive n.e my superiorly.’ M thi ks I still feel the impressio of th.it hand, as it Satan had touched me with his fiery claw. “Too soon for his ow sak . too late for thatof the the court, Mirab au sold himself to the la ter, a d the comt bought him over. He hazarded the stake of his fame for the pros p-ct ot a pension and an embassy; Cromw 11 was at the point of excha gi g his future prospects tor <t title and the Order of the Gar ter.—Notwithstanding his pride, he did ot set a sufficient value upon hinis If; thesuper abu dance ot mot. y aud places has raised the price of men’s co sei nces. “Death released Mirab. au from his promi ses, a.id rescued him from dangers which he would | r-b.bly be u able to overcome; his* life w..ul 1 have demonstrated his i .capacity for good; by his death h was left i > the height ot his power for evi .”—Vol. ii. pp. 159-161. From the New Y orfe Mirror. PESEN I I WENT. BY tV. C BRYANT. “Oh, father let us hence—-fir hark! A fearful murmur shakes the air; The clouds are coming swift and dark— What horrid shades they wear! A winged giant sails the sky; Oh, father—father, let us fly !” “Hush, child—it is a grateful, sound, That beating of the summer shower; Here, where the boughs hang close around, We’ll pass a pleasant hour— Till the fresh wind that brings the rain Has swept the heaven clear again." “Nay, father, let us haste—for see, That horrid thing with horned brow! His wings o'erhang this very tree— His scowls upon us now ! His huge black arm is lifted high— Oh, father—father, let us fly!" “Hush, child"—but as the father spoke, Downward the livid firebolt came; Close to his ear the thunder broke, — rind, blasted by rhe flame, The child lay dead ! while dark and still Swept the swift cloud along the hill. "May you die among your kindred. Wliai sensitive mind has never cherished the feeling expressed in this sentiment! ‘L t me die at home,’ is the wish of all hearts, the anguuge of every tongue. Wan. dert g over the desert of life, buffeted and af flicted, we ue er lose sight of home. Our trucks may be varied, but whenever we move ih - attractive i fluence of our birth place is felt. Through all the vjcisiiudea of our tuna- Vol. V—Ao. 8. I pluck'd a rasa for thee, sweet friend, Thine ever favorite flower— A bud I long had nurs’d for thee, Within my wintry bower, I group’d it with the fragrant leaves 1 That on the myrtle grew, > And tied it with a silken string ■ Ofaoft cerulean blue. I brought the rose to thee, sweet friand. And stood beside the chair Where sickness long by thy step had chained— But yet thou wert not there. I turn'd me to thy curtained bed. So fair with snowy lawn; Methought the impress'd pillow said, ‘Not here—but risen and gone.' Thy book of praye r lay opsn wide. And 'mid its leaves was seen A flower with petals shrunk and dried. Lost Summer’s withered queen: It was a flu wer I gave thee, friend, Thou lov’dst it for my sake; “See, here a fresher one I bring!” —No lip in answer speak. Then from her sofa’s quiet side I raised the covering rare— “Sieep’sc thou ?” —upon her forehead lay Unstirred die auburn hair. But when to leave my cherished flower Her gentle hand 1 stole, That icy touch I —its fearful chill Congealed my almost soul I Ah, friend—dear friend I—and can it be Thy last sweet word is said J And all too late my token comes Tu cheer the pulseless dead! Here, on the cold, unheaving breast, The promised rose I lay— The last poor symbol as a lovo p That cannot fade away. ' But thou, from yon perennial bowers Where free thy footiteps glide, Or from those shores' of bliss that meet Life’s never-wasting tide— Yea, where beside our Saviour’s throne Doth grow th’ immortal treo, Pluck thou an angel’s stainless rose, p And keep it safe for me. 1 The Resting" Place. BY J. N. MAFFITT. | “So man lietli down, and raiseth not, till the i heavens b no more, they shall not wake, nor I b rinsed oar of their sleep.” However dark asd disco solate the path of • life miy seem to my man, thure is no hour , of deep and quiet repose at baud, when the . body may si k into a dreamless slumber. Let n -t the itn igi ation be startled, if this resting | pl ice, instead of the bed of down, shall be the . ‘ bed of gravel, or the rocky pavement of the tomb. No matter where ihe poor remains of ; wearied mat may lie, the repose is deep and u disturbed—the sorrowful bosom heaves no , more —the tears are dried up iu th-ir fountains the achi g head is at ease, and the stormy waves of earthly tribulation roll unheeded over (he place of graves. Let arini. s engage - i fearful conflicts over the vary bosoms of tha pale nations of the dead, not one ot the sleep ers shall h. ed the spirit stirring trump, ocrea po d to the rendi ig shouts of victory. p c „. lit =e eoa ttvss mittibns slumber in the arms of their mother "eurt ’ The voice of thunder shall not wake them ; the loud cry of the el. me.its —the wi ds—the waves, nor even the gnul tread of the earthquake, shall be able to cause au u.iquirtude i i the chambers of d ath. They shall rest securely through ages; empires shall rise and pass away; tho last gn at battle sh ill be fought; and then a silver voice, at first but just heard, shall rise to a lempes tone, md penetrate the voiceless grave. “ F r the trumpet shall sou id. and the dead shill h -ar its voice.”— Miss. Chris. Ha rald. Effect of Coffee Drinking on stature. —A singular property has rece itly been ascribed to coffee, when drank habitually from childhood to the age of puberty, which it is worth while to ex >mine with physiological accuracy. It is said that the effect is to prevent th it devel opemant of the bones which would take place were this delicious article never intro duced into the stomach. That it acts in this wav, i i every case, is certainly questiontibia; some indviduils grow exceedingly tall, and would, were they to drink strong coffee every hour i i the twenty-four, the first ten years of their existence; but no one will deny that out ofthe e urn population of any particular dis trict which might b‘ selected, a majority of the whole, living in tbs ordinary mode—that is, using coff. e— Would full b low the madium stature of five fe« I nine riches. Scarcely one man i-i seve . hu idred, on the average, in New E glang measures si T feet—and perhaps those towerf.g above that altitude am hardly iu ths ratio of one to eighteen thousand. Before and for many years after the Ameri can r v.dution, travellers uniformly spoke of th.; yank es as bei ig aTMI, well-built race ot men, The females were i qually distinguished