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BY JAMES W. JONES
The Southern Whig,
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The sale of personal Property, in like manner,
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of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne
groes, must be published four months.
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of administration, must be published thirty
•ays and Letters ofDismission, six months.
For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 3 2 75
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325
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BOOK BINDERY,
p==a
THE subset iber would respectfully inform
the Citizens of Athens and the public gen- 1
erally, that he has established himself in the 1
third Story of Mr. Teney’s Book Store, imine- I
diately over the Southern Whig Office, where ,
work will be executed at the shortest notice in (
all the various branches of his business. Blank (
Books made of all Sizes and Ruled to any given ]
pattern.
J. C. F. CLARK. I
Athens, Sept. 23, —21—ts
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open-
. ing at his Store, his supplies of
FALL &■ WINTER GOODS,
which combind with his former Stock, render
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Bonnets.
A ease ofhandsoine English Straw and Florence
Bonnets, iust received and far sale, bv
J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,-24—tf
NEGRO SHOES,
300 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale by
J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,—24—tf
GEORGIA CLARK COUNTY.
Edward 1,. Thomas, Admin-
w • istrator on the estate of John W. Thom
as, deceased, applies for letters of dismission.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all and
singular the kindled and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if any
they have) why sai l letters should not be grant
ed. Given under my hand this 17th July, 1837.
G. B. HAYGOOD, n. c. c. o.
July 22—12—6 m.
GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY.
XM7HEREAS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis-
V » trator of the Estate of Edward Harrison,
applies to me for Letters of dismission, j
This is therefore to cite and admonish all. and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if any
they have) why said letters should not be grant
bed.
Given under my hand, this 20th day of Octo
ber, 1837.
E. M. JOHNSON, c. c. o.
Oct. 21, —25—6m
GEORGIA, CLARK COUNTY.
VM 7HE RE AS, Win. Thomas, Sr. Adminfstra
’’ tor of Drury Thomas dec’d. applies for
letters of dismission.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all, and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
>time prescribed by law to shew cause (if any
<hey have) why said letters should not be grant
ed.
G. B. HAYGOOD, n. e. c. o.
August 5, —14—6 m
FOUR months after date application will be
made to the Inferior Court of Madison coun
ty when siting for ordinary purposes, for leave
to sell the land and negroes belonging to the
■estate of Benjamin Higginbotham, dec’d of said
county.
JAMES M, WARE, Adm’r.
Oot. 7—23—4 m.
FOUR MONTHS after date, application will
be made to the Honorable, the Inferior
Court ofMadison county, for leave to sell the
real Estate of Agnes Lawless, late of said coun
ty, deceased.
JOHN B. ADAIR, Adm'r.
Sept. 16—20
Executor’s Sale.
WILL be sold on the 24th November next,
at the late residence of Jarratt Bell, de
ceased in Walton county, a quantity ofCornand
Fodder, one or two Horses, some Hogs, and
some other articles too tedious to mention.
Terms made kuown on the day of sale.
ALLEN S. BELL, Ex’r.
Oct. Ik—24—7w
' Vis'
From the New Monthly Magazine.
TIIE FALLING LEAVES.
BY MRS. NORTON.
We stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play ;
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way ;
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we ;
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sun-beams gild the tree.
With dancing feet we leap along
Where withered boughs are strown ;
Nor past nor future check our song:
The present is our own.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth’s enchanting spring ;
When hope, (who wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing.
We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leafless trees,
And the color kindles on our cheek
And blows the winter breeze ;
While, gazing toward the cold, gray sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,
We wish the old year all past by,
And the young spring come again.
We stand among the fallen loaves
In manhood’s mighty prime ;
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love “ the olden time
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think
How many a year hath pass’d,
Since ’neath those cold and faded trees
Our footsteps wandered last;
And old companions—now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead —•
Come round us as those autumn loaves
Are crushed beneath our tread.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day;
And tott'ring on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way,
We look not back—too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward —for we may not live
To see our new hopes cross’d ;
But on we go—the sun’s faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts.
Childhood, without its joy, returns:
The present fills our hearts.
From the Knickerbocker for November.
Wilson Coiiworth.
NUMBER SEVEN.
I havb already described Setting ou‘ for the
law school at L . Aller a long and te-
dious ride over rocky hills, we arrived late in
the evening at the town. It is situated on a
river, on each side of which vre meadows of
the most fertile soil, one mile in breadth. On
the east side of this river, a short range of
mountains rise, grand and imposing, from the
generally level face of the country about them.
Here is perhaps the finest sceneiy in New
England. Yoh have a great variety within
one half hour’s walk. Gardens of exotics,
well-tilled farms, more resembling gardens
than farms, mountains, a river, woods, cottages,
princely edifices ; her® a street like a city, and
the next turn brings you into something simply
rural.
Here too might be found, at a later day, the
finest school in the country, perhaps in the j
world, if we may judge from the talent cm- I
ployed in its management, and the splendor of >
the scale upon which it was got up. The foun- I
dets of this school are probably in our country I
the only instance on record of men who had 1
gained high places in the literary world, leav
ing all their hard-bought honors, and the ease
of professorships in the first literary institution
in the country, to embark in the thankless task
of keeping school. This school has not suc
ceeded according to its merits—as what school
does? It enjoyed a temporary reputation and
success, as long as it was the fashion and a
novelty ; and after the curiosity of the public I
was satisfied, it diminished, and no longer !
numbers its three hundred pupils. It is the ,
same with our clergymen. People in our j
country are for ever changing their ministers, i
It is so with servants, ploughs, and al! ma- j
chinery, moral and physical. Variety, curl-I
osity, experiment, are the words that govern.
We are forever tearing things to pieces, to see i
what they are made of, and how they are con
structed. There is not and never has been a
permanent ptivate school in America ; and our
endowed academics sink and rise, and only
continue to exist, because from (heir legal na
[ tore they cannot die.
I In the town of L you might have found,
at the time I write of, a race peculiar to the
soil of New. England ; the descendants of old
families, who have inherited wealth from their
fathers, an 1 with it a set of feeh”gs that at
taches them to old customs and habits. The
furniture of their houses is antique, and they
themselves area little tinctured with puritani- ■
cal manners. There are few places soaristo- j
cratic as this. T'hoy do not show their pride
in equipage and dress, like new-born gentility,
but in the distance of their manners, and the
seclusion of their lives. A race has grown up
and flocked in around these moss-covered fa
milies, which is ttiriving and industrious, but
the line is strictly marked between them and j
the old settlers, who yet consider the land as I
their own, and themselves as the pillars of the
place.
Some of.tho old men wear gold-headed canes
and white-topped boots and cues, though the
cocked-hat is obsolete; and the old ladies ap
pear upon gala-days in brocade gowns, worn
by (heir great-grand-mothers, for aught I know,
w ith heads carried as none but old prim, stiff
ladies know bow to carry their heads : a little
in the style, we may suppose, Jupiter carries
his head, when he walks among the clouds,
where there is no vulgar earth to look upon.
The morning after my arrival, I called upon
Judge II , the prinoipal of the law school,
and found him, Cincinnatus like, digging in
his garden. He rested upon his spade, ns I
approached him; took my letter and read it ;
gave me his hand, when he had finished, and
as I looked in his face, and saw his clear eye
and benevolent cauntcnanee. I lovc.d him. He
was a spare man, with the air of a student
about him; his face was pale, and worn with
i much thinking; his manners kind and win
■ ning, with the least affectation any one cun
[ imagine. He introduced me to his lovely
family, and they made me feel at home in a
moment, by the sincerity and unostentatious-
I ness of their reception-
I Some people, when a stranger is introducer:
-
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMED Y. ’’—Jefferson.
to them, are chiefly occupied in making an
impression upon him of their importance and
dignity, while the best bred only think how he
may be made easy and comfortable.
The judge pointed a boarding-house out to
me, and appointed a tune to talk farther with
me, and I took my leave, thoroughly impressed
with the idea that I was the happiest man in
the world, and the judge and his family the best
and most agreeablCpeople. ‘Now lor a look
at law-students at a law school,’ thinks I.
I found a fine set of fellows here, from all
parts of the United States. Here was a stu
dent from the West, with his dark eye and
coal-black hair, and Indian-red cheeks. He
was remarkable.for his independence and fear
lessness ; for his up-and-down dealing, and
for the originality of his figures, and the in
difference ail western men feel to weather, do
mestic comfort, and the elegancies of life.—
Then comes the hot-blooded Southerner, con
tending between his ignorance and his pride;
fur tho Southerners,' (although there’are hon.
orable exceptions,) who come to the North for
an education, are too much gentleman in their
own sense, to be able to handle any thing hea
ier than a cigar; though now and then bolster
ed up to holding a pistol at some friend they
have injured, for the sake of the eclat of the
thing. We see enough of this race of spoiled
children at college, where they attempt to lord
it over the institution and its members. They
mistake the contempt which permits their folly
to pass unnoticed, lor submission.
Here, too, appeared the yankee, with his
honest phiz, from the green mountains of Ver
mont; with his heart in his hand ; telling eve
ry body who will listen to him all his family
aifdrs and domestic arrangements. Neverthe
less he has his points of shrewdness. You
are off your guard by his honest and simple
confidence in you : find him at nine-pin alley,
and he is your man, as lie says, ‘ ’at can knock
’em down? Put him down to ‘ allfours’ and
he will plavgame; but he does not aspire to
whist or billiards ; of the latter perhaps he ne
ver hoard. But if you would see him in his
o-lory, look at him at a scrub-race, mounted on
one of his father’s colts, taken without leave
from the pasture ; his hat a little on one side ;
his neck begirt with a colored handkerchief,
the ends flying ; the skirts of his coat pinned
about in front, and he is in his element. A
Vermonter is rarely a drunkard, away from
his native state ; but to him, and the smooth
faced, precise inhabitant of Connecticut, we
are indebted for the bad odor in which yan
kees are held in the middle and southern states,
among the lower order of people, by their sharp
bargains, by biting those who intended to eat
them up ; for they are not always the aggres
sors in a bargain, beyond the latitude of trade
law.
The strongest attachments of the Vermon
ter are for his horses and cattle, for he was
brought up among them, and is taught to re
gard them as the sources of profit. Until the
age of twenty-one, he is buckled close to the
barn-yard and stables ; but at that age, he is
free, and goes from home to seek his fortune
in the capacity of pedlar, clerk, student at
medicine or law, < r to college, if he has a book
ish turn, but never as a servant.
Vermont is lhe most republican of any state ;
in the Union. There, people are more upon I
an equality than elsewhere ; the rate of intelli- j
geuce, education, property, aro more upon a I
par. It has no clownish aristocincy, like New j
Hampshire; no mushroom importance, like
New-Yo k; no golden privileges, like Mas
sachusetts ; hut simple and contented, intelli
gent and industrious, hospitable and honest,
without pretensions and disdaining show, run
ning into no wild chitncras of improvement,
and only a little mad upon masonry, it stands
firm as its own Green Mountains, full of the i
purest American character.
Here was tho inhabitant, of the coast, the
polished New-Englander from sea-hoard, v ith i
his literature and his sectional pride, his love [
of the arts, his belief that Cambridge College}
is the first institution in the country, and the J
Unitarian doctrine the mosr splendid of reli- j
gious speculation. He is small in stature, for I
tho most part, and has an intellectual face, and }
a head full of bumps. His dress is simple and !
neat; his feet and hands are small, but his fin- j
gers are short ai d dumpish, showing that he is /
not anxious to talk of bis grand-father. His j
manners are retiring and unobtrusive, not as i
if he lacked self-respect, but as if he feared i
others would not estimate him properly. It is !
his pride of character that keeps him silent, j
and causes him to stand aloof among strangers; !
for he would not be thought guilty of the vul- ■
gar habit of presumption, for his righthand. I
Show him that you respect him, and he is trans- (
formed in an instant; h® is all openness and I
sociability, ready t® be obliged, or to bestow !
favors. He sympathizes with you, till you al- i
most love him like a brother—so aptly does he !
glide into tho bent of your feelings. You will i
find him more literary than scientific; he writes I
better than he talks ; judges better than he acts; |
for he is much given to impulse and enthu-1
siasmof the subdued kind, which works like }
fire around Lis heart, while the exterior mm— !
the surface of his demeanor—is calm and pas- :
i sionless ; he thinks more than he says, and I
I reads more than you have any idea of. His ■
: taste is refined, and his sensibility acute.
I Science belongs to Yale College, with her
grand professor Silliman; but fine writing,'
criticism, and moral philosophy, belong to
Cambridge. Cambridge sends forth eloquent
divines, poets, sculptors, and painters; Yale
breeds sound lawyers, scientific doctors, and
superstitious theologians.
j The tall Virginian, with his rakish air, his
j big mouth, his large teeth, his long legs, and
profuse hair, was next pointed out to me. He
may be known the world over, by his indepen
dent way of chewing tobacco. He squirts
out the juice, black as your hat, by the gill, as
he walks the streets, or stands at the door of
the hotel. He seems as if surrounded by
I slaves, so towering is his look. He is rarely
a studeat, except in inventing strange oaths or
a no tv-fashioned hat and cane. 11 is family
descent is his hobby; and this, m bis opinion,
makes up for all deficiencies.
Any one may single out the Georgian and
I the inhabitants of any ofthe Gulf-states. They
are small, dark, men, who look as if (hey wore
daggers. Their air is indolent and candoss,
when iniexcited ; but if they receive some
slight or opposition, ‘.heir dark eyes flash, and
their lips close tight, with the intensest pas
pion. They are confused by northern man
i ners and yankee plainness. You rarely see
j them laugh, though they sneer most bitterly at
j things they dislike, or which are foreign to
■ their own customs. As they come to the North
j to be educated, they herd w ith the Carolinians
■ ut our colleges and schools; continually quar-
! ri ling among thems: Ives, and slandering each
I other, they only agree to hate the ‘d— d
i vaakees.’
ATSIEAS, UEOKGSA, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1837.
CHAPTER XV.
I found among the students many whom I
had known at college slight!) . They received
me with the greatest kindness and cordiality. '
They knew enough of my struggles, and thought j
well enough of my good intentions, to do all
they could to heal the wounds I had received.
Beside, they knew they had misjudged me at
college. I certainly had some good qualities;
I was very sincere ; spoke my sentiments, any
thing that came into my head, right out, with
out regard to consequences. However im
prudent such a course is, we cannot help liking
a person who possess a quality so rare. It
was not a virtue in me, but I did it from a wild
impulse, a recklessness of consequences ; and
finding that it gained me friends, and raised a
good-natured laugh, I carried it to excess
criticizing my own faults, confessing every
weakness, and telling people just what I thought
of them.
I do not know when I have passed a more
delightful evening than the first after my arri
val in this place. With me were C , and
F , and L , andJ? , all old friends,
who had always clung to me, and predicted
my reformation. Wo were all changed, as
men always change after leaving college, and
mingling in the world, and getting rid of the
hateful jealousy, the struggle for rank, the
boyish pride, and hot blood, which character
izes students at college, pitted against each
other for the prize of parts. We sat together
at a spot overlooking the finest landscape I
know of. It was a calm summer evening,
and the holy rest of nature poured quietness
and complacency into our hearts. We silent
ly regarded each other, and let fall the easy
remark, each word opening to us lhe fact that
we were different beings from what we were
when we parted.
Men educated in the same way, do not talk
in round sentences, like the characters in a
novel. They interchange ideas by a word, a
look, a smile, a gesture; even in silence they
hold communion, in looking at a picture or a
prospect. Observe how the Indians talk;
this is a perfect instance of tho near sympa
thy they have for one another. A shrug of
the shoulder, a grunt, or a gesture, a move
ment of the head or hanc, is sufficient to con
vey their meaning.
My friends saw that 1 had a good room ;
they let me into the halits of the place, and
drew a fascinating picture of the life they led.
I never was so happy. All the dark spots in
my life vanished, and I locked only upon bright
and joyous anticipations. I was away from
scones of hateful remembrance, and seemed to
have began anew. I felt grateful for the
chance that brought me here.
I do not intend to dwell long upon this la-V
school; and I have introduced it more for the
Stale of showing the effect of character upon
character, than any thing else, and to illustrate
how our very best sympathies, unless properly
guarded, may lead us into error.
Law was pursued in this institution with all
the plan and regularity with which any school
is conducted. Recitations were held every
day, and the lessons marked out. I admire
this way of getting into the dry details of un
interesting profession by the beginner. By
getting lessons, short lessons, every day, at the
end of a few months the student finds himself
the master of much information and technical
knowledge which he never would have attain
ed by himself, without the severest self-control
and discipline.
It is every thing to tho student at law to
get a right start; to lay the foundation well for
future reading and practice. Very many law
yers, particularly in the state of Naw-York,
get a knowledge of their piefession after they
are admitted. The time of their clerkship is
spent in copying legal instruments, and attend
ing to the matter of practice, while principles,
and the origin and reason of these forms and j
technicalities, are regarded with indifference. |
Surely, no man can be a good lawyer—useful, j
protecting the poor, and guarding the rights of
tho widow and the orphan, exposing crime and
supporting straight-forwardness and virtue—
who is not also a good scholar, a general rea
der, a nice observer, and sound reasencr. Cer
tainly, a mere machine to hold a pen, and
bully in pettifogging suits, cannot be this.
My friend C kept a friend’s eye upon !
me, for he soon saw my failing ; and so he I
dragged me to my duty by the gentle and strong ;
persuasion of a friend ; the kind and well- '
meant hint, more influential upon a generous |
mind than rivets of iron, or the severest autho
rity. I was a good student here for three
months. My self-satisfaction and confidence,
my reasonings in my own favor, (most dange
rous to our peace are such) put me off my
; guard, and— But 1 will tell you.
I had frequently observed a tall, thin, pale,
1 and very genteel young man passing the street.
I had seen him once or twice at a law lecture.
‘He evidently belonged to the school. I was
5 surprised, too, that he seemed to kno w no one, i
I and nona of the students bowed to him, as they
j passed each other in the way. The first time
| I saw him, his back was toward me. He was
! elegantly, fastidiously dressed. His walk was
I very fine, and was the gait of a gentleman.—
( 1 felt a strong interest to see his face; and
! when I came to look upon his pale, melancholy
I countenance, haggard and disap- !
I pointment, I felt my heart lean toward him ;
; I pitied him frem lhe bottom of my soul.
I I discovered that our study-rooms were con
! tiguous. and determined to work myself, by
j some means, into an acquaintance with him.
} One night, as I was sitting late at niv window,
j looking at the moon, and thinking of by-gone
times, when 1 had one beside me to enjoy such
scenes with, the sweetest and most melan
choly voice met my ear 1 had ever heard.
The song it sung was plaintive, and the sounds
seemed like breathings out of the heart. This
feast continued for hours. Now I could only
hear a low chant, and then a wild burst of me
lody, that seemed to pierce tho sky ; varied
again and again, with the most astonishing
skill.
I found out, by some means, that the voice
was that of Collins, the name of the young
man whom I was so anxious to know.
I could not be satisfied, until I had his ac
quaintance. I wished to become his friend.
I knew what it was to be wretched and lonely,
and I felt criminal in neglecting him. I talk
ed with particular friends about him, but they
answered equivocally. ‘ They did pot know
why Collins did not associate more with them.
His distance Was his own work; he was a
singular young man, and they believed he lived
upon opium ; that he was strange and eccen
tric, and chose to.be alone.’ C said:
‘You had better let him alone ; he can do you
no good ; his case is a hopeless one, and as
for his melancholy, it is all fudge.’ All I
heard, only determined me to seek him out.
j and find what could occasion such habitual
sadness.
I Collins received my advances in a very gen-
tlemanly way, though he showed-no disposi- |
tion to palm himself off upon me. He had
been absent, until a short time before I saw
him, from the school, and treated me as a new
{ comer; spoke very handsomely of the stu
dents, and seemed to know the character and
course of every man in the institution. I was
charmed with the elegance ofihis manners, I
the acuteness of his mind, and his general ac
quaintance with literature. He soon return
ed my civility, and we gradually became ac
quainted.
He pursued his usual habits without any se
crecy, and apparently as if there was no harm
in such courses. His mornings were usually
spent in a deep sleep, more resembling a le
thargy than refreshing rest, from which no
thing could rouse him. He rose about mid
day and read until night, hardly taking any
nourishment. At night he seemed to revel in
a world of his own creation-; he would sit for
hours in ono position, chanting low airs, his
spirits kept alive by opium and worse stimu
lus. I never could discover the least mark of
intoxication in Mr. Collins, as every body call
ed him. His person Was scrupulously neat,
his dress always adjusted with the nicest re
gard to fashion and elegance. His language
was at all times proper, and his sentiments re
fined. His mien was dignified and graceful.
Had it not been for his haggard cheek, and the
unnatural brightness of his eye, sensual indul
gence would bo the last vice one could have
attributed to him.
The mind of this young man was radically
wrong. He had no fixed principle, and if he
did right, it was to be in good taste, not to be :
in opposition to error. Blackstone says, that
‘to do right is only to pursue one’s own sub
stantial happiness;’ and it may be said, that <
to do right, is to pursue good taste, elegance, I
refinement, true pleasure, and pure happiness. 1
Collins was unhappy; he hardly knew why. t
Possessed of a poetic temperament —nurtured >
in the lap of ease and wealth—every thing !
provided for him, he had never learned to think, 1
to reason, but gave free scope to any impulse I
that came across him. Misfortune he could |
not bear, for he had never calculated for its 1
inevitable coming; disappointment unmanned <
him, for he esteemed that wealth exempted 1
him from the common lot oY mortality. He <
had had an unfortunate attachment—as what i
young man has not ?—and he thought he must <
be melancholy and wretched, to be Byronic t
and sentimental. 1
He was, as I found out upon a longer ac- <
quaintance, for my own foolish fancies made i
me singularly acute in tracing the rhapsodies <
of feeling in others, in a false and unnatural ‘
state ofmind; a maniac, a madman, unsound. 1
We are apt only io attach the name of mad- 1
ness to extravagi nt actions and incoherent i
words, hut there is a madness which escapes <
the common evo —a madness of the soul, i
whic.L as effectually destroys thebalar.ee and
contracts the usefulness of man’s life, as the
wildest inconsistencies of conduct. .
With every means of happiness within his
reach, but for a strange and ridiculous fancy ;
with riches, the highest connexions, a fine
person and good education, this young man in
dulged the idea that he was soon to die. It
was impossible to shake off this illusion. Con
sidering himself as doomed, he told me that he
thought he was bound to make the most of the
little time that remained for him, and he sup
ported himself under this idea, so terrific to an
ill-regulated mind, by opium, brandy, and any
kind of stimulus.
Now his disease wiis'tais : Having taken by
seme accident this impression, he resorted to
a bad remedy to drive it away. Each appli
cation only drove tho poison still deeper into
hissystem. He allowed himself no lucid in
terval. Could he have been prostrated by a
fit of sickness, and placed under proper care,
and recovered slowly from his disease, his
mind might have been restored. But once in,
he continued to weaken his strength by artifi
cial stimulus, and his mind had no opportunity
to resume its natural (one. The drunkard on
ly can recover from bis malady by going thro’
the ordeal of a trial by water. He must ex
pect to be prostrated. He must suffer intense
agony for days, and perhaps weeks, but if he }
perseveres, his cure is certain.
Collins visited at some houses, and was ca
ressed by a few, as ‘a character.’ Ho enjoy
ed the reputation ofbeing an elegant scholar,
among persons to whom he had never given
the slightest evidence of scholarship, and who
probably did not kno v what the classics were.
This is very common. Who ever knew a
case of a young man’s throwing himself away,
particularly if his connections are respectable,
when it was not said : ‘ What a pity ! He is
the flower of the family ; might be any thing,
only——’
The ladies, dear souls! saw in him a deso
lated genius. It would be laughable io tell the j
thousand and one stories circulated about his j
; love affair. They used to get him to sing his
plaintive airs, and how it went to their hearts
to hear the tones of a broken heart. Fie, un
der th® influence of powerful doses of opium,
enjoyed this. He yielded to the idea that he
was what they thought him, and was happy in j
; the luxury of WO. After one of these displays, [
i he would ask me to relate to him whatoceur
red the evening before, for he did not know,
I though all the time he appeared to tho com
pany as perfectly rational.
| The students did not expose him, though
they saw pretty nearly what he was. 1,1
! cannot tell why, was with him constantly, and
took pleasure in his society. It was some
, thing new to me, and gave me an opportunity
of studying myself.
The example of this man constantly before
I me, the fact that I associated with him, contra
ry to the wishes of ray friends, in the course
oftime alienated from me the good feeling of i
my former friends; or they felt bound to re- i
sent my neglect of them, by corresponding j
coldness. I did feel bitterly toward them, for |
their neglect of Collins, and always took his i
part; and when lightly spoken of, resented it |
as an insult to myself.
In this way, t lost the confidence and friend- |
ship of those men who could have still been, I
would I have permitted it, of inestimable ad- j
vantage to me in healing my own distempered
mind.
Collins and myself at last w’ere constantly
together, and each other’s only companions.
I gradually fell into his habits. Certain it is,
that we enjoyed some Elysian hours. In the
lonely still nights, when all else seemed lost in
sleep, and the sound of labor broke not upon
the ear to remind us that we. were in a toiling
world, we used to sally forth and wander thro’
lhe meadows that skirt the river in this delight
ful region. Under the soothing influence of
that drug, which creates first a heaven and
then a hell, we talked and sang to tho stars,
and lhe beautiful earth, and the bright moon,
and thought we were happy. A man must be
far gone for this world, who goes straight about
| such An excitement of his system, when he
knows, as we did, the agony that was to follow,
after the charm hade :as«d. I was the great,
est sufferer. My constitution was naturally
strong; capable of great action and reaction.
While Collins was loft in dull apathy and leth
argy, I woke from the trance of joy to exces-
I sive nervous pain. My mind was filled with
dismal images. I had horrid forebodings.
My broken vows to my fathei—the probable
misery I had caused her who really loved me
—the days of quiet and peaceful happiness I
might have enjoyed oy a different course—my
ruin—glimpses of what 1 am—all came to my
mind, and inflicted the keenest torture. I lived
over again all the pains I had ever suffered.
It seemed as if miseries were accumulated to
crush me. I meditated self-destruction. I
prayed for death. This frame of mind would
continue for days, during which time I kept my
room, and lived upon the most simple diet.
But when recovered in body and mind, and
going out. with stroßgest resolution, as I thought,
some new temptation would assail me, and the
same scene; the same agony, the same remorse,
were acted over and over again; and what
makes it more astonishing, there was a sincer
ity in this resistance, which repeated failure
could not lend me to doubt.
My only object in forming this acquaint
ance, was pity for Collins’ solitary state, and
a desire to alleviate the pain he seemed to suf
fer. My motive, if I know my own heart was
good. Even believers in human depravity
will give me credit for honesty of intention.
‘The way to hell is paved with good intentions,’
says the preacher. How true!
In one of my fits of voluntary seclusion, I
read ‘Hope Leslie.’ Let me here give the
evidence of my otfn experience in favor of
that book. The study of the law was relin.
quished, and I read only works of feverish in
terest, when I read anything. After the in
dulgence of irregular passions, every one who
has suffered, knows that the mind is left in a
flighty state; we have strange visions, and
think strange thoughts ; in short, we are quite
poetic. Poetry, novels, music! how grateful
they are ! They lead us away from ourselves,
and we are just unsound enough to yield en
tirely to the illusion. Under such circumstan
ces, I read ‘ Hope Leslie.’ I w r as a woe
about it, and I read all the tims too. I was so
enchanted with the book, that I consumed it as
the child eats his sugar-plums, by little and
little, to make it last the longer, dwelling over
each passage ; reading a scene, and then walk
ing the room, and picturing out the lofty In
dian, the heroic Magawisca, the generous
youth, and the gentle mother. How I revel
led 1 Beside, I felt strengthened and elevated
by the high tone of moral sentiment contained
tn that work. It was the happiest week I
ever lived, infinitely surpassing all possible
reality.
The De purled Spirit.
“ Ye cannot tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth.”
Mysterious in its birth,
And viewless as the blast;
Where hath the spirit fled from earth—
Forever past?
I ask the grave below—
It keeps the secret well:
I call upon the heavens to show—
They will not tell.
Os earth’s remotest strand-,
Are tales and tidings known ;
But from the spirit’s distant land
Returneth none.
Winds waft the breath of flowers
To wanderers o’er the wave ;
But bear no message from the bowers
Beyond the grave.
Proud science scales the skies—
From star to star doth roam,
But reaches not the star where lies I
The spirit’s home.
Impervious darkness hide
This mystery of heaven ;
But where all knowledge is denied—
To hope I is given.
.Romance in Real Life. — Yesterday fortnight
an event took place, atthe shop of a respectable
watchmaker in this town, which had nearly
been attended with a tragical result. The sister j
ofa young lady who ©nee mad® some stir in this ;
town, respecting a certain hymeneal disappoint- i
merit, had it appears, for a long period, received
visits from the gentleman in question. She
either bad. or concluded she had reason for be
lieving, that the consumation would be matri
mony. Suddenly, however, and as the lady
avers, without any reason assigned, the gen
tleman discontinued his visits. She repeatedly
called at hisshop and requested to see him, but
either by accident or design, her wishes in this
! respact were frustaated. It the shop boy may
1 be believed, she more than once betrayed signs
of violent agitation and exhibited a pair of pis
tols. Last Monday fortnight she called at the
shop where she found the gentleman. She asked
him ifhc intended to call at her house. He said,
no, he did not intend to call any more- At that
moment she placed her handin her pocket, and ,
j he heard the click ofa pistol lock. The sound
was that of placing the weapon on full cock.
She drew the pistol from her pocket, and he
rushed towards her and seized it with the in
tention of disarming her. A struggle ensued,
during which' the pistol went off. The ball
entered the young man’s leg just above the
knee, and shattered the bor.e in the most dread,
ful m.uuicr. She immediately threw away
another pistol, and rushed from the shop. —
The young man took up the pistol which she
had thrown away, and on examining it, found
it to he loaded with a ball. An application
was made to the Magistrates last week for a
summons against the lady, and the case was
i heard on Friday. The gentleman is in a very
, precarious state, and was so ill from the effects
I ofhis wound, that it was found expedient to
j have the case heard in the office of the Ma
i gislrates Clerks. The above facts were sta- i
i led, and the young woman was bound to keep ;
I the peace for twelve months.— London Paper.
KENTX’CK. FOREVEK!
I The hills of Kentucky are dearer to me,
Than all the rich gems of the land or the sea;
Among them I roved in the spring-time of youfli—
And there I received the first lessons of truth.
For true steady habits, and morals and worth,
The land of big squashes is first on the earth.
The home of coy lasses, the clime ol the free—
Old Kentucky forever I Kentucky for me I
When I think of the maidens, so modestly shy,
The snug little cottage and good pumpkin pie,
My fancy delights in their pleasures to share—
For I love them forever, and long to be there
The fine apple-dumplings I hold in good will.
And rae'pberry tarts I am partial to still
i I’ve travell’d by land and I’ve sailed o’er the sea—
i But old Kentuck forever! old Kentuck for me I
KENTVCKY
Vol. V—No. 31.
Mr. Elay’s Speech.
SUB-TREASURY BILL
( Continued.)
No prudent or practical government will in
I its measures run counter to the long settled
habits and usages of the people. Religion,
language, laws, the established currency and
business of a whole community, Cannot be ea
sily or suddenly uprooted. After the denom
ination of our coin was changed to dollars and
cents, many years elapsed before the o’d meth
od of keeping accounts in pounds shillings and
pence, whs abandoned, and to day, there are
probably some men of the last century who
adhere to it- If a fundamental change be
comes necessary, it should not be sudden, but
conducted by slow and cautious degrees,
The people of the United States have been
always a paper money people. It was paper
money that carried us through the revolution,
established our liberties, and made tls a free
ami independent people. - And, if the experi
ence of the revolutionary war convinced ouf
aneestors, as wear® convTnceff, of the eVui W
an ii'itfleemable paper medium, it was put
aside only in e ive place to that Convertible pa
per which has so powerfully contributed to our
rapid advancement, prosperity, and greatness
The proposed substitution of an exclusive
metallic currency, to the mixed medium With
which we have been so long familiar, is for
bidden by the principles of eternal justice,
Assuming the currency of the country to con
sist of two-thirds of paper and one of specie;
and assuming also that the money of a coun
try, whatever may be its component parts, re
gulates all values, and expresses the true a
mount which the debtor has to pay his credit
or, the effect of the change upon that relation,
and upon the property of the country, would
be most ruinous. All property would be re
duced in value to one-third its present nomin
al amount; and every debtor Would, in effect,
have to pay three times as much as he hod
contracted for. The pressure of our foreign
debt would be three times as great ns it is,
while the six hundred millions, which is about
the sum now probably due to the banks from
the people, would be multiplied into eighteen
hundred millions.
But there are some more specific
to this project ofsub.treasuries, which deserve
to bo noticed. The first of which is its inse.
curity.— The sub-treasury and his bondsmen,
constitute the only guaranty far the safety of
the immense sums of public money which paSd
through his hands. Is this to he compared
with that which is possessed through the agen
cy of barks? The collector, who is to be sub
treasurer, pays tho money to the bank, and
the bank to the disbursing officer. Here are
three checks. You propose to destroy two of
them, and that most important of all, the bank,
with its machinery of president, directors,
cashier, teller, and clerks, all of whom are so
many sentinels. At the very moment when
the Secretary of the Treasury tolls us how
well his sub-treasury system works, he has
communicated to Congress a circular, signed
by himself, exhibiting his distrust in itt for ho
directs in that circular that the public moneys,
when they amount to a large sum, shall be spa
dully deposited with those very bunks which
he would repudiate. I n the state of Kentucky,
(other gentlemen can speak of their respective
states,) although it has existed but abelit forty
five years, three treasurers, selected by the le
gislature for their estab’ished character of hon
or and probity, proved faithless- And the his
tory of the delinquency of one, is the history
of all. It commenced in human weakness,
yielding to earnest solicitations for temporary
loans, with the most positive assurances of a
punctual return. In no instance was there
originally any intention to defraud the public-.
We should not expose poor weak human na
ture to such temptations. How easy will it
be, as has been done, to indemnify the sureties
out of the public money, and squander the
residue?
2. Thon there is the liability to favoritism
in th® receipts, a political partizan or friend
may be r. ccommodated in the payment of du
ties, in the disbursement, in the purchase of
bills, in drafts upon convenient and favorable
offices, and in a thousand Wayb.
3. The fearful increase of executive patron
age. Hundreds and thousands of new officers
are to be created ; for this bill is a mere com
mencement of the system, and all are to be
placed under the direct control of the Presi
dent.
The Senator from South Carolina, (Mr-
Calhoun.) thinks that the executive is nDW
weak, and that no danger is to be apprehended
from its patronage. I wish to God I could
see the subject in the same light that ho does-
I wish that I could feel free from that alarm at
exutive encroachments by which ha iv-d I
were so recently animated. When and hovq
let me ask, has that power, lately so fearful
and formidable, suddenly become so weak and
harmless? Where is that corps of one hun
dred thousand office-holders and dependents;
whose organized strength, directed by lhe will
of a single man, was lately held up in such
vivid colors and po .verful language Dy a re
port made by the Senator himself? Whcrt
were they disbanded I What has become of
proscription ? Its victims may bo exhausted;
but tho spirit and the power which sacrificed
them remain unsubdued. What of the dis.
missing power? M hat of the veto? Os that
practice of withholding bills, contrary to the
constitution, still more repre'ifcnsible than the
abuse of the veto? Ol treasury orders, put ill
force and maintained in defiance and contempt
of the legislative authority? And, akhough
last, not least, of that expunging power winch
degraded the Senate, and placed it at the feel
of the executive?
Which of all these endrmous powers and
pretentions has the present Chief Magistrate
disavowed? So far from disclaiming any one
of them, has he not announced his intention to
follow in the very footsteps of his predecessor?
And Las he not done it? Was it against tho
person of Andrew Jackson that the Senator
from South Carolina so ably co-operated with
us? No, sir, no sir, no. It was against his
usurpations, as we believed them, against his
arbitrary administration, above all, ag.nust that
tremendous and frightful augmentation of the
power ofthe executive branch of the govern
ment. that we patriotically but vainly contend
ed. Tho person of the chief magistrate is
changed, but there stands the Executive powa
er, perpetuated in all its vast magnitude, un
diminished, re-asserted, and overshadowing
all the other departments of the government-
Every trophy which the late President won
from them now decorates the Executive mans
sion. Every power, w hich he tore from a
bloeding Constitution, is now in the Executive
arrnonv. ready, as time and occasion ma/