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BY JAMES W. JONES. The Southern Whig, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. 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 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 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 oiit. ( 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 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 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. § 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 7o Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of smell type, (or space ■equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each weekly continuance: If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each ■time as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, $1 00 per square. f IRE PROOF WAREHOUSE. AVGUSTA, Ga. THE undersigned take this method of inform ing bis friends and the Planters of Georgia, and Carolina, that he continues the Warehouse and Commission Business at the same stand, and have, in addition to the above large, com modious and Fire Proof Ware-house, taken a lease of the Fire Proof Ware-house on Mclntosh street, convenient to the River, and the Geor gia and Carolina Rail Roads, formerly occupied by Heard & Cook, and recently by Gen. Daw son. By this arrangement he will be enabled to have room to place all cotton sent to be stor ed in secure Fire Proof Buildings, and ample Fire Proof Close Stores for the receiving and EorwafdTlTg uroiids to the country. With a strict adherence and punctuality, in all business con fided to hie care, he hopes’ to merit a continu ance of the very flattering support which he Las met with for the two seasons past. Sept. 7, 1337. EGBERT B. BEALL. city papers, Recorder, Journal and Standard of Union, Milledgeville ; Macon Mes senger, Columbus Enquirer, Athens Whig, Savannah Republican, Charleston Courier, and Edgefield Advertiser will copy the above in their respective papers, until first November, and forward their accounts Tor payment. E. B .B. Athens, Sept 16—20—tNl. NEW DRY~GOO Ts AND GROCERY STORE. THE undersigned having removed to the up per tenement of the New brick range, next below the Ware-House of Stovall, Simmons, & Co., are now receiving a fresh, and general assortment of M.'S’ ©TOM, Shoes, and Groceries, recently purchased at the North, chiefly for Cash, at reduced prices;—all of which they offer low, and respectfully invite | a call from those who may be in market, believ ing that such inducements will be offered, as to secure a liberal share of the patronage of the public. STOVALL & HAMLEN. Augusta, September 9, 1837. (XJyTheir Wholesale Dry Good Estnblisment is in the second story—over the Grocery. Sept. 16,-20 —2in COMMISSION BUSINESS? AUGUSTA, GA. STOVALL, SIMMONS, & Co., in express ing their gratitude to their patrons, for their continued confidence, and generous support, • ■would renew the offer of their services in the factorage and Commission business, at their Fire Proof Ware-House, South side Broad street. Liberal advances will be made on Cotton, &c &c, as heretofore. Sept. 16, —20—2 m FACTORAGE AND COMMIS SION BUSINESS. FTUIE undersigned having removed to Savan nah, has opened in No. 3. Bolton’s Range, a few doors above the Exchange, an extensive WARE-HOUSE for the transaction of a general FACTORAGE and COMMISSION business. Expecting to devote his time exclusively to this business, he will attend to the selling of Cotton, Rice and other produce—receiving and shipping Goods, &c. and to such as may give him their patronage, he pledges himself to the faithful performance of his duties. THOMAS H. HARDEN. Savannah, Oct. 14, —24—4t N. B. Liberal advances on all Cotton and oth er produce in store. The Georgia Journal, Southern Whig, Columbus Enquirer,Macon Messenger, Augus ta Chronicle and Sentinel, Darien Telegraph, & Charleston Courier, will give the above four weekly insertions, and forward their bills to tire Republican office for payment. STOVAXX, SIMMONS, <&> Co. i®. • e> lUI oBE—Eh yifeM/ WOULD inform the public, that in addition to the FIRE PROOF which they have for years occupied, they have taken the FIRE PROOF W ARE-HOUSE, re cently in the occupancy of Messrs. J. W. & I. T. Heard, but a short distance above, on Broad Street, and respectfully invite an increase of patronage, as they are now prepared to store with safety and convenience, a large amount ot Cotton. They pledge their accustomed devotion to the interest of their friends in all business confided to them. Augusta, Oct, 11,—23,--3t ti£ From the New-Yorker. FORGOTTEN FRIENDSHIP. ‘ Too much we give unto the things that perish.’ Mrs. Hernans. We parted—Friendship’s dream had thrown - Deep interest o’er the farewell tone, And Friendship’s magic hand had made A wreath we thought too bright to fade ; And in that hour we closer bound The gold-link’d chain our hearts around, And fond and earnest vows were passed That Friendship’s dream should always last, We parted—he went o’er the sea, With the deep vow of constancy ; lAnd deeper solitude was mine, And Memory had one sacred shrine, Whereon she daily offered up Her grateful confidence in Hope ; While he roamed on through many a land— Oh, could his heart their lures withstand 1 We parted—changeful years rolled by, And yet my heart owned Friendship’s tie; While he —that well-remembered one— Like a lark mounting to the sun, Had been his course—and now his name Was wedded to immortal fame ; , ’Twas borne upon the lip and pen ; And thus the loved returned again. We met again—Oh, idle thought, To think no change can e’er be wrought Upon man’s heart—and vainer still The hope that feeling ne’er can chill; For who that wanders far and wide, ’Mid the world’s selfishness and pride, Doth not its hardening influence feel Unconscious o’er his bosom steal ? We met; a few kind words were said, Then colder compliments were paid; I saw it all by one brieflook, And oh my heart but ill could brook The cold expression of that eye, When I referred to days gone by; The careless smile; the thoughtless tone. Told me that Friendship's dream had flown. We met —but the wide world had been Too long a time our hearts between; For he had roamed through many a clime Os beauty and romance sublime ; And he had themes whereon to dwell Which had for me no genial spell: And memories that jvere not mine Blent with his thoughts, once half divine. We meet —but neither seeks agnin To reunite the severed chain: We feel there is a difference now : For he hath long since learned to bow His thoughts at cold Ambition’s shrine ; And other feelings, too, are mine— Till I at length have taught my heart With all its idle dreams to part. Stella. Illinois, Aug. 1834. PASSAGES FR O M TH E DI AR Y OF A Late London Physician. THE DESTROYER. ( Concluded.) As soon as the bustle of his arrival was over, and while the emptied chaise was being led away from the door, a groom, who might have been observed loitering about the street, step, ped up, gently pulled the area-bell, and inquir ed if that was Lord Seckington who had ar rived? He was rather tartly answered in the affirmative by a bustling servant. The groom sauntered carelessly down the street; but as soon as he had turned the corner, he ran as if a pack of beagles had been at his heels, and scarce ever stopped til he reached General Ogilvie’s. He succeeded in communicating his pregnant intelligence to Colonel St. Helen without having excited the suspicion of any one in the house ; which Colonel St. Helen quitted a few minutes afterwards. I About seven o’clock the same evening a gentleman knocked at the door of Lord Seck ington’s house. Having been informed that his lordship was very particularly engaged, the stranger desired to be shown into the libra ry, where he would wait his Loidship’s leisure, as he had a very pressing engagement with him. The servant accordingly ushered him ( into the library, and took up to Lorn Seeking-' ton the card of “Major Darnley.’’ He had '■ not long to wait; for in less than five minutes the door was opened, and Lord Seckington entered in his dressing-gown. “Major Darnley, 1 presume?” he enquired, politely advancing towards his visitor, who rose and bowed. Lord Seckington, who look ed pale and fatigued with travelling, apologiz ed for his delay in attending the Major, and also for his dress, on the score of his having not yet had time to change it. “I need only mention the name of Colonel St. Helen, riiy Lord,” said Major Darnley, in a low tone, “to apprise your Lordship of the ■ painful nature of my etrand.” “Certainly—l perfectly understand,” repli. ! ed Lord Seckington, rather hastily. ‘•Of course, my Lord, the sooner this affair j is settled the better!” “ By all means,” replied Lord Seckington, ? calmly. “1 have no doubt that my friend, i Captain Leicester, whom I know to be in ! town, will act with you immediately on my be- , half. Probably he is this moment at ’s. where you could hardly fail of tneeli g him,” looking at his watch. “Perhaps your Lordship will favor me with a line addressed to Captain Leicester, iiititnat. ing the nature of tny application?” j “Undoubtedly,” replied Lord Seckington; - . and sitting down, he wrote a few lines to the ! desired effect, and folding up the note, direct ed it, and gave it to Major Darnley. “Probably Caftain Leicester will be with your Lordship jhortly—shall I tell him that your Lordship waits here for him ?” “I. beg you will do me that saver. Pray, Major Darnley, let no time whatever be lost,” added Lord Seckington, with a smile which it I , would have been a luxury to a fiend *o witness. He rang the bell, and Major Darnley took his 1 leave. The instant that the door was closed, ’ Lord ■ Seckington, t fter a sickening glance round at the spacious and splendid apartment threw himself upon the sofa in a state of mind [ that it would bo in vain to attempt describing, f Having agreed to dine that evening with one ! of his old triends who had succeeded 'o a 1 dukedom since they hqd met, and who had quitted Lord Seckington only half an hour be- I fore Major Darnley’s arrival, it became ueces. sary to write off immediately, and announce his inability to bo present. llc did s>, and sta- “WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” Jefferson. ted it to bo owing to very pressing engage ments, and the thought which had since occur red to him that he ought not to dine out till af ter his uncle’s funeral—well knowing that his own funeral might probably take place at the same time. It. may be easily understood that he was in no humor to renew the business details which Major Darnley’s arrival had in terrupted. He sent a message to that effect up stairs to his solicitor, to whom he had pro- I rnised to return, begging him to be in attend, j ance in the morning ; and ordering dinner to j be prepared and served at a moment’s notice, he again threw himself upon the sofa. He was roused from his dreadful reverv about a quarter before eight o’clock by Captain Lei cester. He was in full dinner-dress, hasting been met by Major Darnley, just as he was preparing to go to the Duke of ’s. where ha was to have been surprised by the appear ance of Lord Seckington. After his hurried interview with Major Darnley, he had come off direct to Street. •‘Well. Alverley,—Seckington, I mean— you see it’s just as I suspected,” said he. has lily steppir. ■ up to Lord Seckington. “ Yes,” he replied, shaking him cordially by the hand, and unconsciously sighing. “May | I reckon on your services?” •'Oh, of course—l am here on the business ' now.” “Where wore you going when Major Dam- | ley found you?” enquired Lord Seckington, al- i hiding to Captain Leicester’s dress. “The Duke of ’s.” “Ah, I was to have been there too,” said Lord Seckington. “They’ll suspect that some thing’s wrong by our both so suddenly sending refusals.” “And let them—they’re not likely to send us ! peace-officers, if they do suspect. Thev’il ’ only be devilish sorry to lose (he company of two deuced good knives and forks—that’s all!” “ I have ordered dinner here to be ready at a moment s notice,” said Lord Seckington, as the servant brought in candles. He must have observed the troubled and pallid countenance of his lord as he placed them upon the table near which Lord Seckington and Captain Lei cester were standing. “You can stay to din- 1 ner?” ‘‘l think, perhaps. I have half ap hour to spare,” replied Captain Leicester.—for duel- 1 ists, like lover-*, must eat, it would seem ; ' “but I can’t spare one second more, lor I’ve en gaged to meet Darnley at -’s bv a quarter ' to nine o’clock.” Lord Seckington rang, and 1 ordered dinner to be served immediately. “This blood.thiiFty devil. St. Helen,” said > Lord Seckington, as the servant closed the ' i door, “must have been watching for my arri- ' I val—Major Darnley was with mein less than 1 i an hour after I had got into the house.” 1 “Very probably. No doubt he had hired ' some fellow to lurk about and bring him word ' of your arrival. Ypu know, my dear fellow.” added Captain Leicester, “there’s no disguis ing the thing; we are likely to have d d sharp work on our hands in the morning.” “The morning ?” I shall go mad if I have to wait all through the night!” exclaimed Lord Seckington, vehemently—“D n me if I could not infinitely prefer fighting to.night i —why could it not be at —’s? You s could easily manage it. Leicester. You real. < ly must arrange it so! I shan’t have a chance, ! if we wait till the morning !” t “You know, it can’t be done,” replied Cap. ! tain Leicester, quietly, as soon as Lord Seek- ‘ mgton had ceased—“lt’s not selon la regie— < there’s a method in every thing, and duelling < is nothing without it. Dainley would laugh ! at me if I proposed it.” “Well, lam of course in your hands. You ' must do as you think proper,” said Lord Seek. 1 ington, with a sigh. 1 ‘ I’ll parade you let me see—five, or six o’clock—either will do,” said Captain Letces- i ter, thoughtfully. “However, we shall discuss, i every thing fully to night at ’s.” I “Did you ever know of such an unhappy I devil as I am, Leicester?” exclaimed Lord I Seckington, abruptly, walking to and fro— I “just now to be shot.” ' “Ay, and for such a cause, that’s the ugly I part of the story—but what does that signify? I ’Twas an adventure carri id on with the ut- | most spirit—you could not comjnand success, < you know—eh? isn’t that the word ?” j “It’s d d hard to part with all this!”— i exclaimed Lord Seckington, sadly, pointing to i the fine library. “Hell must be a joke to what I’ve suffered since I got your last letter.” i “I thought it would have that effect, when 1 I was writing it. But,” —shrugging his < i shoulders,” “the thing’s done now, and you [ must try not to think of it. ’Tte worse than useless. Make your will, and snap your fin gers at every thing and every body in the world. That’s the way a man of sense and spirit should meet death, and then he conquers j it. By the way, if you were to make your will it might be as well. There’s an infernal heap of money in the funds, you know.” “O Leicester, don’t torment me ! I shall do what is proper, you may depend upon it.” “Well, my dear fellow, don’t take it ill. ’Tis no more than every second should do for his principal when ho expects warm work ! jOf course, St. Helen, you know, will try 1 d d hard to hit you; but after all there’s j no certainty, even with the deadliest shot in j the world.” j “Oh, curse the ——- !” groaned Lord Seek- j i ington, coupling Mrs. St. Helen’s name with i ’ the vilest epithet that could be applied to a I j woman. [ “No, no, Seckington—you forget yourself, • | I call that very unhandsome—nay. it’s ungrate- i j ful—it’s d d bad taste!”—said Captain Leicester, seriously. “You should only know ths kind of life she’a I led me since we went abroad ! ” exclaimed Lord Seckington, vehemently. | “Poor devil, you ought not to speak of her in i that way,” said Captain Leicester, with a ! grave air cl' displeasure. “Pray remember, ! Seckington, that whatever she is, you have i made her. It is not handsome to speak so of the woman that Inis denied you nothing, and . lost every thing for your sake. “Well,” exclaimed Lord Seckington, aftei , walking violently to and fro—“l suppose I ! may say that 1 wish I had been in be- : fore I had ever seen her.” “Ah, yes —quite another matter; but we ;! mustn’t have any thing unkind said of poor , pretty Mrs. St. Helen.” •‘Pretty! B) , you should see hr now! Pretty !” I “Well I hope you have settled something on her.” ■ “Five hundred a year.” •‘Devilish liberal, certainly. M ould she I speak to me, if we met at Paris V’ Lord Seckington made no reply, but, with . his arms folded, kept walking to and fro, heuv s ing heavy sighs. “Take my advice, Seckington—-make a «EORGIA,*SATUK©AY, OCTOBER 2S, 1537. i brave effort, and throw it all off your mind. It can do you no good—it will do you infinite harm. Fancy yourself plain Charles Alver ley—the dodged of duns—drop ‘my lord,’ — think nothing of your rent-roll or your funded property; they’ll bv all the more delightful if you escape to-morrdw? why do you provoke your fate? Hope for the best. Depend upon I it you’re too good a fellow to be ordered off | just in the nick of time—oh, it’s impossible !” { Lord Seckington grasped his hands ai d ; looked unutterable things. “You know, Leicester, it is not death that I care for, come how or when it may,” said he “I’m a little above that, 1 should hope.” “Don’t fear Boggy, then, eh?” interrupted Captain Leicester with a smile. “Pshaw ! But, by the way, what am 1 to do? How often am Ito receive his fire?” “Ah, I've been considering that point a little. Why, I think twice.” “And I” “Fire wide the first time, of course” “But I don’t think it is quite such a matter of course, Leicester.” “Oh, nonsense, it’s clear as day-light— trust me.” “Really it’s devilish hard—he’ll try to take Imy life, It’s throwing away my only chance. ' It’s going out to be clean murdered !” “Seckington, put yourself into my place. I You know that what I soy is the correct thing. It must be so, or lam not responsible. If no- I thing happens, of course, he’ll demand another I shot; and then you may perhaps—hem ! —I don’t say what you ought to do. but I think I know what I should do. And the same if a third is asked for.” “Why the devil does not the fellow announce ■ dinner?” exclaimed Lord Seckington, violent ! ly pulling the bell. “Hush—don’t be so feverish. Heannoun j ced it five minutes ago —I’ve been on the move ever since—l’ve now only a quarter of an hour.” Here the servant made his appearance, and Lord Seckington in silence followed his com panion to the diningroom. Both of them casl otie significant glance at the splendour of the sideboard display—and, indeed, of every thing about them. “The first time you have ever done the hon ors here, I presume ?” sa.d Captain Leices ter, as he took his seat. “It is probably the last," thought Lord Seckington. Alas! what would he have giv en at that moment to undo what he had done— to have begun nothing of which he had not well considered the end—never to have blast ed the happy home of his brave nrother-soldier —to escape from the mortal thraldom he was now enduring! Perhaps, had he been calm enough, a lesson of his earlier days might have re< urred to him before the tearful lesson of the ensuing morning ! “ Audire est opera? pretiam, procedere recte Qui rncßchis non vultis—ut omni parte laborent! Utque illis multo corrupta dolore volnptas, Atque h®c rara, cadut dura inter srepe pericla !” [Hor. Sat. Lib. I. Sat. ii. It was settled by the seconds that the meet ing should take place at five oclock on the en suing morning in Battersea Fields, and as both of them anticipated its turning out a desperate affair, they made all necessary arrangements to meet contingencies, providing for the in. stant flight of the survivor and themselves—-or, it might be, of themselves alone—in the event of any thing fatal occurring. Two experien ced surgeons also were in attendance. Their arrangements, in. short, were admirably made, lor they were both of them somewhat experi enced in such affairs. Within a very few moments of each other’s.arrival were the two hostile parties in the field. Both Colonel St. Helen and Lprd Seckington were very finely made men, and of a most gentlemanly appear ance. The former was dressed in a blue sur tout and light trowsers—the latter in black— black from head to foot not a spot of color a bout him—nothing that might possibly serve to point the weapon of his antagonist—a pre caution of his thoughtful second, of which he had readily availed himself, but which was to tally disregarded by Colonel St. Helen. The process of loading was soon got through—the distance, ten paces, duly stepped out by Ma jor Darnley—and there Lord Seckington stood, in fearful contiguity, in the immediate pres ence of his irreparably injured and mortal foe. Lord Seckington did not attempt either to sustain or return the dreadful look with which Colonel St. Helen regarded him! Pistols were quickly placed iu their —the seconds withdrew to about a dozen paces. “Gentlemen, are you ready? Fire!” ex claimed Major Darnley. Both pistols were discharged as he uttered the last word, and the principals remained standing unhurt. Lord Seckington fired as he had been enjoined, while Colonel St. Helen’s ball whistled closely past the chin of his oppo nent. “Are you satisfied ?” inquired Captain Lei cester. “By no means,” replied Major Darnley. They loaded again —again withdrew, hav ing placed fresh pistols in the hands of their respective principals—again was the word given—again both fired simultaneously, but again without effect. It was evident that this time Lord Seckington hid followed the exam pie of his opponent, for his ball passed close i behind Colonel St. Helen’s shoulder. I “I presume you are now satisfied ?” inquir | cd Captain Leicester. “Certainly not,” replied Major Darnley. ‘ 1 must insist upon a third shot.” “I really cannot permit it” I “Load again!” exclaimed Lord Seckington, | ! in a low tone ; and the seconds resumed their gloomy functions. A third time their principals stood awaiting their signal, and as the word “Fire!” escaped from the lips of Major Darnley, both were ob served taking deliberate aim. Neither fired till a scconij or two after the word hud been uttered, when their pistols flashed together, a d Lord S: ckington sprung upwards, and in stantly lay extended upon the ground. Col onel St. Helen’s ball appeared to have passed through the head of his opponent, while he himself, still convulsively grasping his weapon, remained standing, looking silently and grimly at his prostrate autagoui t. “Fly! For God’s sake, fly!” exclaimed Major Darnley, looking towards Colonel St Helen from beside the insensible figure of Lord St ckington. “Is he killed 1” whispered Colonel St- He! en, as Major Dir dey rushed up to him, re peating his iutreaties. “Yes—yes—l fear he is.” replied the Ma jor. “VV’hy, St. Helen! St. Helen! are you hit?”—Rushing forward, he caught the Col onel in his arms, and both fell together on the ground. The surgeon who had accompanied him to . the.field, was instantly at his side, and pro ; uounced Colonel St. Helen to have had a fit of - apoplexy. Lord ball had all but - touched the breast of Colonel S’. Helen, who I with truei and more deadly aim had so direct ! ed his ball, that it passed right through the ■ bones of the nose, immediately beneath the eyebrows, carrying away almost the whole of the nasal bones. Lord Seckington was not dead, though perfectly insensible —the wound he had received was one that, if he survived, would occasion him the most frightful disfig urement for life. He was carried insensible to his carriage, a handkerchief having been thrown over his face, and hurried off at the top speed of his four horses to street. It was found necessary to bleed Colonel St. He!- en on the spot from both arms, and as soon as the incisions had been hastily bandaged up, he was conveyed with difficulty to his carriage, and taken home to General Ogilvie’s a dismal spectacle ! A short time before the carriage containing Lord Seckington reached street, a post- chaise drew up opposite to his door, in which were two females, one of whom appeared vio lently agitated. Knock and ring—ring hard !—open the chaise-door—make haste!” exclaimed one of them in a breath ; and as soon as the hall-door was thrown open by the alarmed porter —for all the servants had suspicion of the dreadful nature of the engagement which had taken Lord Seckington away so early in a carriage and-four, and were now awaiting his return in the greatest trepidation—she rushed in. “Is Lord—Lord Seckington— is he at horn j? j she gasped. “Yes no,” replied the affrighted porter in a breath. “Do you know any thing about his lordship?” By this time the valet, who had > accompanied him to France and had returned with him, made his appearance, and whisper d to the porter, who, th * , iti a somewhat less respectful toue. inquired, “ Does his lordship expect you, ma’am ?” “No, my lord does not, I can answer so? i that,” interposed the valet; “he thinks you’re I at this moment in Paris.” “Silence, sir! show me instantly i t<> tn diningroom,” said the lady, as indignantly as her violent agitation would admit of. “Excuse me, ma’am,” said the porter, plac ing himself between her and the diningroom door, “ I—l cannot admit you ! Are you a re lation of bis lordship's or what! What’s your business here ?” | “Hinder me at your peril, sirrah! exclaim- ) ed Mrs. St. Helen—for she it was, with all j her naturally commanding tons a..d manner;! and at the same time pushing bi a gently aside, ' without further opposition she entered the di- ; uiugroom. “Order in my maid from the chaise!” said Mrs. St. Helen, sinking exhausted into the nearest chair, scarce able to stand, or to s e whether her orders were attended to. There was a sudden muster of servants i the hall for i a few moments; and after a hurried conver- ■ sation together, the diningroom door was open- | ed by the valet. “1 hope, ma’am, you wont make it ueces- 1 sary, tna’m, for us to do our duty. I know, ma’am who you are,” he commenced with a determined air- “ Audacious wretch !” exclaimed Mrs. St. Helen, roused foi a moment by his extraordin ary insolence, “ Ii you don’t instantly leave this room, sir,’ “ Ah, ma’am, leave the room ? Pray, ma’am, are you mistress here? I leave the room, ma’am? You will leave it first, ma’am, I ca - tell you, if it comes to that —that’s flat!” i continued, pushing wider open the deor. “Do | you think, ma’am, I’m going to be talked to in | this way by you ? I know who you are, ma’am, I quite well! Do you think I hadn’t my eyes | and my ears open at Paris? My Lord’s done i the handsome thing by you. a al you ought ot ' to come following him about the town in this j way; ah, ma’am, you may look, but I fancy j tny Lord’s done with you ; he’s got other fish ; to fry just now—believe me.” At that mo- ! ment a vehicle was heard approaching rapidly. I and a hubbub in the hall drew the valet thither. ■ “Drive away that chaise!” exclaimed half-a- j dozen voices in the street, and Lord Seeking- j ton's carriage dashed up to the door. Mrs. ; St. Helen sprung to the window, hearing her j 1 chaise ordered away, expecting some new i - i suit was preparing for h< r; and beheld the miserable figure of Lord Seckington in the j act of being carried out of the carriage, his head covered over with a blood-spotted white 1 handkerchief. She rushed from the di ;i g | room, and, with a piercing shriek, was flying j down the steps, whan one of the agitated ser- i vants, either designedly or accidentally, tripped her foot, exclaiming at the same time. “ Get ; out of the way, you d —d !” and she fell; with her forehead upon the corner of one of i the steps, where she lay i sensible and disre- ( garded till Lord Seckington had bi*, n carried . in, when th<* hall door was closed. There she j might have continued but for the humanity of| one or two persons in the crowd that had gatli- I ered round Lord Seckingtou’s carriage They i raised her from the ground ; and having been j informed from the area that she did not belong i there, and that they knew nothing whatever \ about her, they carried her, still insensible from the stunning effects of her fall and of her violent mental agitation to the nearest public house, whither her attendant in the chaise fol- j lowed her. From the reprijsentations and en- ; treaties of the latter, the surly publican con- ■ sented to receive Mrs. St. Helen for the pre- ' sent into bis house, and a medical man was ■ sent for. This was the once beautiful, happy, inno- ' j cent wife and mother, Emma Si. Helen, who j had torn herself from her helpless children, her. affectionate husband; who had opened her) foolish and guilty ear and heart to the tern* t r; j who had fled from the pure arras of hi r hus band to the blasting serpent like embraces of an adulterer; who could pity her ? Here, dis carded by menials of her seducer, she lay dis ho ;ored in her extremils among low and uo willi g merce .arias; her be >uty e lively go e; wasted to skeleton; heart-broke ; parulvs-i ed with the dreadful sp. ctacle of her dead ■ paramour, whose ha d had. perhaps, that mor ning, too, been dyed with the blood ot her husband! It seemed that, as soon as ever she recov ered her senses wh * at Paris, and discovered the departure of Lord S ckingto:), and learned from her maid the too probable object es his abrupt disappearance, she determined on fol lowing him, aud engaged a passage i the verv next Co?iVevHiiCC that started, so us, by tra velling night and dav , to reach Street the very morni g after Lord S"ckinoton’s arrival. 1 was called in to attend Colonel St, Helen about ten o’clo< k. aud found him in almost pre cisely similar circumstances to those in which he had been p aced when I formerly attend d * him, only that the present was a far more se- rious attack, and the probabilities of its fatal !' termination infinitely greater. * All our efforts to relieve the laboring brain proved unavailing, > and we all gave up the case in despair. On . the Saturday evening after his fatal meeting with- Lord Seckington, I was returning on horseback from a visit io a distant patient re ' siding about two miles beyond Genet al Ogil. vie’s house, and determined to call in to inquire after Colonel St. Helen, if he yet survived? When within a few yards of the house, I over took two men carrying a coffin on their backs. I stopped my horse—my conjectures were right—they opened the General’s gate and went to the house. So it was at length all over! Poor, brokenhearted St. Helen, victim of tlie perfidy of the wife of your bosom—of the villany of your brother soldier, you r sor rows were at length ended. After pausing for a few moments I despatched my groom, desiring 'aim to inquire whether they wished to see me. The General sent back word that he particu larly desired to see me, and 1 dismounted- He met mo at the door, and with the utmost grief, visible in his countenance and manner, told me the event that had taken place. I followed him into the room he had just quitted, and we sat down together. Colonel St. Helen expired that day about twelve o’cloi k—only an hour after I had been with him. H H< lay,” said ths General, “in the same state i which you left him. almost io 'he last, in a dull stupor. I was sitting on cue side of the b :d. and Mrs. Ogilvie, contrary to my wishes— seeing her excessive agitation—entered ! h room I had a little before i isiste ip hi r j quitting, ;,nd resumed th s: ;.t she ' ; • re occupied 8n the bed-side. The loisc sh* made I seemed to r.:use him from his lethargy. He slowly .opened bis eyes-—th first time during i his illness—looked dutly at her; I thi.tk his ' lips seemhd to move, aid on bending my ear till it .dm* s' t -i.ich' d them. I think I heard the word • Emma !’ His head sunk back upon the pillo . .<1 hr * ittu.il heavily for a moment or two, ii Si ILdeu iv.is no more! No doubt,” continued the General, with great emotion, “he h:d a co fused notion that it was Mrs. ; St. H len who uas sitting beside him —alas that such a polluted bi iag should have troubled his lust thoughts! Yet there seemed no anger or disgust in his manner—if it had any charac ter at ah, it was one of forgiveness !” He was buried at ; and there was scarcely an officer ofdistinction in Lo ndon that did not insist upon follow i g him to the grave. ’The kr*dheartcd Commander-in-Chief shed ;t ..rs, I u ders o ’d, when h heard >f his death. ■H bequeathed his fl.rtu eto his children equal :h, leavi .g General a d Mrs. Ogilvie their I guardians, whom he also mpowered to allow Mrs. ’t. Helen, should she ever requir. it, such a sum as would place her out of the reach of destitution. The will was dated only the day before that on which he fought with Loid 1 S ckington. I regret io have to mention that name agai >, and shall dismiss it briefly and for ever. I did not attend him. but h -urd several details concerning him from those whoxlid. It would perhaps have been mercy had C done! St. He i len’s ball passed into his brain and depriv’ d him of life on the spot. It had utterly destroy - , ed the nasal bones —and it is impossible to conceive a more r* pulsive obj.-ct lha he mu-i | have presented te every beholder during sh remamdi rofhisdays. IL <■ duo di tolerable , ago iy for ma vmo ths irom his wound; d when nt length, through the car- l -ss ess of**, ot his ait da..ts, he sudde y obt n nd asi ht of his c >u ;ten;vice i • th- glass, the dreadtut a d irr<-mediabl. disfigurement he had sustain ied drove him almost to mad ess. He gnashed his tei :h. and veiled the oust fe .rf’iil a d bias. [ phi mous impr v ,tio s; > d, in short, r<> such a pitch of fre izy was h Irive by ii, that it was found n cessnry to place him for sorm time wider constraint, I> st h should lay viol i ha ds upo ' himself. He gradually, h «ev r. became c inner, and appeared likely in time to becom ecu cil dto his misfortune. Co lo el St. Hele was dead—that wassomegr.iti ficatjon ! L'>rd Seckingtoi; hud still vast sotac* left him : he was. after all, a per ofthe realm; he had a fine, a noble fortune at his command ; ii d th’-” -, with other consolatory topics, wer ■ ( urged upon him so fr qu.-ntly a. d earnestly by j his friends and attend:, ts, as at length to sa tisfy them that th v might lay side th< ii ap- , prehensions, and release him from the painful, , the i tolerable restraint they had felt it ueces- | sary to impose upon him, also relaxing the , strictness of their surveillance. They did so; aid a day or two afterwards, the event was , dulv annou ced in the newspapers as follows : | —“On the 29th nit., at Street, in his 32d , vi >r, th Right Hotiorabl Lord Seckington.” ' If such a thing as a Coroner's Inquest took place, th* pap-rs took no otice or it; and 1 everv bodv was satisfied that he died in con- ■ seque ce of the wounds he had received in his i duel with Colonel St. Helen. My pen now moves heavily and reluctantly in tracing these painful, but, I hope, neverthe j less, instructive scenes; my head aches as I ! recall th m, —but my long labors now draw to I a close. ’ General and Mrs. Ogilvie, with their little J precious charges—lor precious they were, and they were themselves childless —withdrew, in about a twelvemonth after Colonel St. Helen’s death, to a remote part of Englund, where they might attend exclusively and unremittingly to ! the important and interesting duties confided ■to them. Their departure, and the end- ss I absorbing engagemmits of • busy professional | life in the inetr q>olis, caused th gloomy tr i s- ■ actio s abow. nrrmed n: iduin'v io <h .■•>•• ’sr : from my tnmory, which, howev -r. tir y h? ! long and grievously haunted. Three years afterwards, there occurs the following entry in ’ my Diary.“— IVedncsday. Sth October, 18—.” * * But 1 -hall elide vor to describe the sc ne exactly as it appeared to me. May ex perience n< v i enable inc to describe such mother! ■ Hush ! staml here, D octor .” whisper ed Mr. B , the proprietor of an extensive private asylum near the metropolis, where I I Ii .ii e.tiled to visit a gentleman who had been i long a patient of mine. •' Hush, don’t speak, nor be at all alarmed,” opening a small, and, as it seemed to me, a secret door, —“these are my incurables. Hark! 1 think I know what thev are *d»out. Step forward, here. Can you see ? I did as he directed. From my po sition I could not see very but the room was long and rather narrow, and had a j r s mblance to it ward in a hospital, with about half-a-doz beds on each side of the room, on which were sitting us many boys, apparently from about fifteen to eighteen years old. wear ing long blue dresses, and their hair cut as close lo their heads as possible. They were making all manner of discordant noises, a-I seemed eagerly talking together, but each re mai 'd sitti ig quietly oi his own bed; a cir cumstance 1 mentioned to Mr. B , express- Vol. V—Ao. »«. ing my surprise that so eager and violent a® their gestures seemed, they should not quit their beds. “It would be verv Strange if they coul.i,” h e whispered with a smile, “ for they are all f««tened to a staple in the wall, by a strong girtlle passing round their waists. Bless your life ! ifit nut for that, they would soon kill one an other, and every bodythatcame near them. It was only last month that one of them contrived to twist herself.” “Herself!" I whispered in amazement; “ what do you mean, Mr. B ?” “ Why, what I say, Doctor, surely—are you not aware that these are women?” “Gracious God, women!" -I exclaimed, with a perfect shudder. “ Why, certainly 1 But, by the way, they don’t look much like women either ; that close cut hair of theirs is so like the head of a char, ity schoolboy. Some of these people have been, and in point of family are, highly respec. table. It may appear very shocking to you to see them in thia, condition ; it was until I grew accustomed to it. I assure you we use no unnecessary violence or restraint whatever ; but, on the contrary, give them even’ indulgence their unfortunate condition will admit of. What can we do with them? There are several of them perfect fiends if they hsv the slightest license. I was obliged to 11 vi this room constructed on purpose apart from , e rest of my establishment, their noises were so dreadful; —now hark !” “ Whon—whoo—whoo”—shrieked a voice ouiidcr than any of the rest, “who’ll go to the ms ? «he’ll go to the moon ? who’ll goto tin moon ?” “ I—l’ve gut it!” shouted another—“ Pole! Pole ! what have you done with the mopti ?” “ I go for the stars —the stars ! Whirr ! whirr ! whirr ! —Away ! away ! away !” cried another. “Ha ! ha! ha!—Ha, ha, ha !” said another voice, bursting i. to loud laughter, “ I’ve got a dog iu my head—hark- how it barks—bow, wow, wow ! —Ha—ha—ha !” ••I’ve got a cat—mew ! —mew ! —mew ! who’ll catch the mouse? I feel it—mew !” “Water! water! water! The world’s on fir- !—Fire, fire, fire !” “ Hush, you wretches.” exclaimed another voice. “ I’m going to sing for my dinner—- hush! huik !” “ Hark ! >he song—the song !” cried all the other voices together, while the singer began ; aud in a few moments her voice only was heard, wild and dismal beyond description, though not very foud, uttering words something like the following: “ Hark to the bell, the merry, merry, merry bell, It is his knell, —the merry’ merry, merry knell”— “ Ding, dong!—Ding, dong ! —Ding, dong!” —su gihe other voices in a kind of doleful chorus. The singer resumed— • “Lullaby! Lullaby! Lullaby! His head, oh, his head it is white— All white I white ! —Dead, dead, dead ! —Sing, you wretches!” They resumed— “ Ding, dong!—Ding, dong!—Ding, dong!” The sun at that moment shone into the drea ry room, while I was intently gazing on the miserable scene it disclosed. Mercv ! —my fl. -Ii i-r- pt—l began to recognise in the singer, who looked wildly up into the sunshine— l could tint be wrong,--Mrs. St. Helen! “NV h-> is that?” I inquired faintly, turning awax Iron) the room, while my companion e-: a •:! s. i-nrei. the door. "Mrs. Jones ,s the performer, if it’s she whom you mean.” ••Oh io, no. no ! Her name is not, it never was Jo es!” said I, feeling very faint, and movi gas quickly away as possible into the *’pe air. “Well, c-rtainly,” said Mr. B .after consider -g little, "it is strange enough; I iiuv certai ly now and then heard her men tio your -me, arnnrig others. So you know, verv probably, her real name,—-Mrs. St. H !” He mentioned the name I dreaded to hear " 1 liav h.id her tin He two years; she was re moved thither from St ’s by order ofGeu- erai Ogiivii, ,; u h->se expense she continues here.” I got i i i tii- op- a air, and began at length to breathe more freely. I protest that ! never in my hie encou -tered such a shock as that I had just experi iced. He told me many sad, shocki g things, which I shall not record. Oh merciful and just God, governor of the world, sometimes even in this life thy most tremendous wrath alights upon the heads ot the guilty! Thus ends the Passages from the Diary of a ate Physician! Reader, farewell! S. W. London, July, 1537. From the Sunday Morning News. THE VICTIM OF AMBITION. Oh, lead m» from this gilded dome— Proud haunt of fashion's Protean train, Oh, give me back my cottage home, Its woodbine shade, and flow’ring plain I To me these changeful scenes appear A gaudy pageantry of art: Th- wake no smile, excite no fear. No’ e’en one thrill to warm my heart. izi on rhe circling dance, ' Beauty trips to Frolic’s measure ; •yous groups advance, V .conscious of one glow of pleasure. I hear impassioned music’s strain, And all the joys of earlier years Come crowding in fond memory’s train, Dimmed by the shadowy mist of tears. Oh! take these roses from my hair— They ill befit so cold a brow ; Believe me, they will wither there, And perish like love’s broken vow. Unbind tliis gem-wrought girdle, too— Beneath an aching heart ’tis prest; Couldst thou its painful feelings view, And how it sighs to be at rest Thou wouldst not deem that gem or flower Might e’er again be prized by me : The slave of vain ambitious power Is lost te joy and sympathy. Away! This false tirade of art For me no longer hath a charm; My spirit seeks but to depart To its last home—death’s dreamless calm. Al a late celebration in Georgia our friend “ Bob Short” gave a first-rato toast: Louisville Journal. Thomas. H. Benton—‘h distinguished gra. duate -f Chapel Hill. Music. “I saw him softly stealing"