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Bl r JAI2ES W. J®AES.
The Southern Whig,
FURLISiIED every Saturday xokxixo.
tekms.
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The sale of personal Property, in like manner,
must be published forty days previous to
the day ®f 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
• .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, six months.
For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 8 2 7; >
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 3 2->
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BOOM
it® )
THE subscriber would respectfully inform
the Citizens of Athens and the public gen
erally, that lie has established himself in the
third’Story of Mr. Teney’s Book Store, imme
diately over the Southern Whig Office, where
work will be executed at the shortest notice in
nil the various branches of his business. Blank
Books made ol all Sizes and Ruled to any given
pattern.
J. C. F. CLARK.
Athens, Sept. 23,—21—1f
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open
. iug at his Store, his supplies of
FALL WINTER GOODS,
which combind with his former Stock, render
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Scnnsts.
A case ofhnndsome English Straw and Florence
Bonnets, just received mid for sale, by
J. YV. JONES.
Oct. 14,-24—tf
S7EGBO SHOBS,
200 pairs Sunerior Negro Shoes for sale bv
J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,—24—tf
GEORGIA CLARK COUNTY.
WHEREAS Edward L. Thomas, Admin
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 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 sai l letters should not be grant
ed. Gives under mv hand this 17th Julv, 1837.
G. B. HAYGOOD, d. c.'c. o.
July 22—12—6 m.
GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY.
WHEREAS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis
trator off the Estate ofEdward Harrison,
deceased, applies tn me 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
they have) why said letters should not be grant
ed.
Given under my hand, this 20lh day of Octo
ber, 1837.
E. M. JOHNSON, c. c. o.
Oct. 21, —-2t>—6m
GEORGIA, CLARK COUNTY.
WHEREAS, Win. Thomas, Sr. Administra-
* * tor of Drurv 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
they have) why said letters should not be grant-
G. B. HAYGOOD, d. c. c. o.
August 5, —14—6m
TpOUR month? 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.
Oct. 7—23—4 m.
FOUR MONTHS after date, application will
be made to the Honorable, the Inferior
Court of’Madison county, for leave to sell the
real Estate of Agnes Lawless, late of said coun
tv deceased.
’ ’ JOHN B. ADAIR, Adm’r.
Sept, Io —20—
______ - - ..
months after date, application will be
* made to the Honorable Inferior Court of
Clark county, when silting for ordinary purpose
es, for leave to sell all the real Estate of Eliza
beth Goodwin, late of said Countv deceased.
THOMAS MOORE, Adm’r.
Oct. 28—26--4 in
Souter
y. -- . _ ..
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
PRESENTIMENT.
Is it a prophet’s dream—the diotiglit
That o’er me loves to fling
A thousand shapes of evil, wrought
By Time’s unfolding wing?—
That in each wasted taper’s doom,
Or fading flower, I see
Some star of hope go out in gloom,
That shone to solace me?
The sun-sired bow that spans the sky,
No heaven-sprung promise gives;
But. in each tint’s receding dye,
A mystic symbol lives,
No buddingjoy entwines my heart,
But lurking at its root,
Some fang lies ready to impart
A poison to the frtiit.
When night foretells her coming gloom
By evening’s milder shade,
A whisper greets me of the tomb—
Ob', would I there were laid!
Yet why?—this life hath not a care
But shadows f irth a text,
Thai doth some heavenly teaching bear
To fit us for the next.
'Tis not that I must bear the stroke.
That my own heart must bleed;
For He whose darker mercies broke,
Will bind the bruised reed;
But ’tis that they whose gentle love
Divides my heart with God,
Must share with me the pangs I prove,
And feel themselves the rod.
Oh! may they share the mercy too
That mollifies the dart,
And feel, with me, its heavenly dew
Distill’d upon the heart;
Cast down, upheld, disturbed, yet calm,
This vale of tears we’ll (read,
Forever trusting in the balm
By Gilead’s Healer shed.
No joy of life but veils a thorn,
No sting, but bears a sweet;
From those we loved if never torn,
We ne’er in Heaven could meet;
Then meekly let us wander here,
Still seeking as we go,
The smile that plays behind the tear,
Till tears shall cease to flow.
Camden, S. C. N. N N.
From tlie Knickerbocker for December.
WiiteoM Coaawoi’SSa.
NUMBER EIGHT.
Although I joined Collins in much of his
dissipation, yet I persuaded myself that I had
his good at heart; and thinking u change of
scene might haven beneficial effect, I propos
ed a jaunt to the Falls o( Niagara. It was the
month of June; we were in possession of a
handsome equipage, and plenty of money ; we
had all the means of making the journey pleas
ant.
C got wind of this project, -and altho’
we had nut spoken tor weeks, he came to my
room the evening before our departure, and
told me I was a ruined mini, unless I gave up
this journey. He. explained to me the reasons
of his coldness, and the reserve of others; it
was to induce me to give up my association
with Collies. He said all were interested for
me, and best light me to listen to his advice;
that some things hud leaked out respecting
Collins, which he was not at liberty to tell me.
I knew I ought to hear him. I was convinc
ed he was disinterested ; but I remained fixed,
fori intended to pass through N .and
was in hopes to see Alice once more; and
this, after once getting into my heart, I could
not get out. • We departed upon our excursion
of pleasure, which proved one of pain. With
whom is hope more faithful?
Following the river, we soon emerged from
(he level meadow country, and began to as
cend the hills oi Vermont. The moon wus at
her full, and we rode mostly in the night-time.
Collins eoubl not bear the day, and I was wil
ling to give in to his caprices, for the night
gave a calmness and amiable tone to his feel
ings. His heart was open to the influences of
nature, though he. pretended to hate mankind
The Connecticut river, in the north, has a
swift and sparkling current, so that it makes
. music as it flows. Tall trees bend over it, all
1 along its course, as if inclining to kiss its nim
ble wafers. These trees are of one kind, and
resemble the graceful cl,tn. To tiie lover of
nature, I know of no scene so fitted to call out
his enthusiasm. After toiling up an ascent of
three or four miles, ns you stop to breathe your
panting steed, v. bich, il bred in the country,
toils so faithfully for you, your eye is filled
with all kinds of senrtery. Here on your right
reposes a village, with its neat white houses,
in a rich valley, the land rising in hills in eve
ry direction from it, partly wooded, with here
and there a wide pasture of close-cropped
green, dotted with the fleecy flock and lowing
kino. The riv'er bounds it, on otic side of
v. hi' h is a circle of meadow land, and on the
other a steep rocky precipice, falling abruptly
to the water.
It was twelve o’clock at night—a clear
moon-light night—when we gained 0:10 of
these elevations of land. No sound broke the
stillness, save the voice of the ‘ solemn bird of
night’ marking by contrast the depth of the
solitude of silence. Collins wept like a child.
He had associations he would not communi
cate to me. Possibly he had been there be
fore. lie refused to speak. We stopped at
the first public house, and he retired to his
room without uttering a word.
Until this evening, I had never spoken to Co],
lies of my own love affair. I hid never told
him of my difficulties, nor let him know th it I
had had any. My obj -Ct was to divert his ;
melancholy, not to find relief from my own sor- 1
rows. That night, as we sat in silence con- ■
templating the scene, some lines ol’poctry had '
escaped me, w hieh Alice Clair had been fond,
of repeating. 1 felt Collins start as he listen
ed, and soon after, be gave vent to a torrent of
tears, the first I had ever seen him shed.
The next morning we rode anil travelled 0.1 ■
in moody silence. Not a word was exehang- ;
ed between us. Collins’s w hole manner to
ward me had changed. N>w and then 1 dis ;
covered a black look upon his lace, as he .
glanced toward me. 1 treated him with my'
usual kindness. I had, in lite relation of my
own u diappv attachment, coiieea'i d the name
and personal appearance of Miss Clair, and the t
place too. 1 was free from suspicion, stippos- ,
ed his reserve was a freak, and waited patient!) ■
for the recovery of his usual manner.
We now left the river, and struc k t.fi’to th.:
••WHERE TOWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDI." .jejjei SOU.
’ ATEIE7SS, SATSJkWAV, ©ECEn-aBER 30, S 83?.
Green Mountains, taking the read to N ,
where we arrived about dark. All the town
knew of our arrival, almost as soon as we
were settled in our apartment. I found that
Coliti s was known there as well ns niystif,
though under a different name. He was greet
ed as ‘ Mr. Cowles,’ by every one. and the peo
ple stared at him as they would at a spectre.
When I asked the explanation of this mys
tery, after we had retired to a private room,
he stared at. me for some moments, with the
glare of a maniac in his eyes, and then sprang
upon me, drawing his dagger from his bosom.
This was no time for parley. I flu: g him
from me, wrested the dagger from his hand,
and then allowed han to rise. Seeing that he
intended no violence, I sat upon the bed while
he walked the room, gnashing his teeth, and
mumbling to himself 4 curses not loud but deep;’
then stopping suddenly opposite to mo, lie
said :
‘ You, ft end !—why did you seek me ? Can
you be the friend w ho feels an interest in me ?
Why have you proved a traitor to my pence?’
I assured him his words were inexplicable
•o mo.
‘ Where,’ said lie, ‘ did you learn those
words you quoted last night ? Do you know
her too ? Have you, too, been a victim to those
super-human charms? I uni a slave; she
bound me ; lam helpless. Oh, God 1--but I
have wronged you ; you could not know ; vou
are not to blame. 1 had better destroy myself.
1 am crazed—mad! I knew not what I say.
O 1 leave me, if yo.t value your life or mine !’
This was all strange. What could lie mean ?
He had no acquaintance with Alice. She had
told me that she never had an attachment be
fore the one she confessed for me. What
other lady in town could there be to excite af
fections so refined as his? It could not be
Alice; this was a vagary too wild to be lis
tened to. However, determined to solve the
difficulty, I went immediately to the house of
Mr. Clair, and asked for his daughter ; ‘she
was out of tow;;;’ tor Mrs. Clair; ‘she was
sick ;’ for any of the family ; ‘ I could not be
admitted.’ Tins was as unceremonious as I
could bear ; so I walked back to the hotel, and
calling the inn-keeper aside, asked him what
had become ol'Mi-s Ci.-ir. Inn-keep rs in
a country village know all the small news that
a: y one does, for they hear the same story as
su ne so many different shapes over the grog
they deal out, that by night they become per
fectly saturated with a piece of scandal, and
give forty readings of the same event to suit
the customer.
Mr. Shuttle gave me a full account of the
affair. He said that Alice was with her sister
in Albany ; that she had been very sick, and
not expected to live. After 1 had been out of
town for a few months, she returned to her fa
ther s ; used to go moping about, and neople
thought her mii.d was affected ; he wondered
that people could be so unreasonable, as to
keep young folks that loved each other sepa
rate ; ii’/te had been me, he would have run
away with her.
I did not wait to hear farther, or even to in
quire about Collins, but. ordered a horse, left a
note for Collins, in which 1 advised him to re
turn, as important business required my pres
cnee at Albany fora few days; and that 1
could not undcitake our contemplated journey,
after what had happened.
That very night I started across the moun
tains for Albany, and did not sleep until I saw
the house that contained all I thought I loved
on earth. The visit to old scenes had renew
ed all the fervor of my affection. Not wishing
to be recognised, I stopped at a c welling in an
obscure part of the town, and sent a little boy
to the house with a note, directing him only to
give it into Miss Clair's own hand. 1 f her
health permitted, I requested an interview;
but certainl) some t-ken of recognition by the
bearer. She was well enough to meet me,
and we agreed to fake a walk that afternoon.
I pass over the agonizing bliss of meeting.
All was forgiven in an instant, She had been
sick indeed—sick at heart. She had heard of
my disgraceful course oflife in the city, after
parting from her. and then again of my relapse
at L . She had supposed that 1 had giv-
en up al! thoughts ofher, and she said that she
had tried to banish me from her thoughts; but,
smiling through her fears, her words were :
‘ You know, Conworth, yon were my first and
only love. I had determined to run the risk of
what I feared would happen. I whs wills’ g
to risk something for one who might be so
much, if he did tiuiv love me in return as I
did him. 1 have been foisaken, and forgotten,
and disregarded ; but the fault was in me in
the first instance in trusting to you. 1 could
hardly expect ymt to change your character
for one like me.’
I could noUbear Cuis; I implored her tn ac
cuse me, to upbraid me—anv thing but such
words; and then I endeavored to palliate tnv
faults, and in doing so, I told the exact trutti.
I led her back to motives, and temptations, mid
despairing states of mind, through which 1
could distinctly trace my own lapses; con
vii ci :g her that all rnsntted from my separa
tion from her; that ‘could 1 have her uith me
Io guide, comfort, and encourage rue. I should,
I i It co.didvnt, do every thing to make her
happy.’
4ho idea i f marriage had not crossed mv
mind until tins iustint. In consoling her, t-tut
draw ing the picture of our union, 1 was so
charmed with the notion, that 1 begat) to speak
in earnest, tind did, upon ths» spot, adopt the
resolution <>! making the attempt to persuade
her to imife herself to me on the mstatit.
1 succeeded. She consented. We were
to be mt’irted on the next morning. Bv good
luck, her brother-in-law was absent from homo,
and 1 knew her sister possessed rather a ro
mantic turn of mind. The devil lent me cun
ning anti eloq ;enco, and I persuaded her it
tr»B the only way to save Alice’s hie and mine.
To bring this about, I had, without pretned. '
itation, to ii-.vont plans wh.ch should have the
appm:rance of having been wcll-digcsted. I
told her ‘that I came authorized from my fa
ther to bring Alice Io his house, if I could do
so as mv w ife.’ I then showed her the wealth
that I possesse I —fin' beside my own monev,
Godins, on starti: g, had constituted me llis
banker—and the w hole story was so we ll got
up, that she seemed delighted with the ) ovdty
of the scheme.
B< ho d me then on the eve of perpetrating
marriage. Every thing was prepared. My
carriage, (one 1 Ind hired, and called mine,)
was at the door; the tru ks weie lashed >.ti,
and we were standing before the minister, in
her sister’s u :i / .r ; tiie justice’s daughter, and
a friend I h id pick, d tip, acting as witnesses,
!be eertmony be.’t-.n. Hardly had a word
been sp.okon, when the door flew violently
open, ano Collins, wiki and haggard, with iii.<
dress torn mid soiled, and without a hat, rush
'•(I into the room. lie looked about itim tor a
few moments in triumph,and then said, slow!) :
•i am cme i;> tim;’, false woman !’ He tup- I
ped - toward Alice, who. pale and trembling,
was sinking to the floor. A dagger gleamed
in the madman’s hand. I rushed forward,
and taking the blow aimed at her, I fell sense
less to tiie earth.
When I awoke from my delirious dream,
nhich followed the wound 1 bad received, I
found myself in a small private house. My
Cither was standing by my bedside, ant’, my
sister was wiping the cold sweat from my
i forehead. I had been thus for a fortnight.
My farther and sister hid arrived upon the
earliest intelligence after lha accident. They
imagined they were journeying to attend my
funeral. Would it had been so !
My father took my hand, as my eyes closed,
upon meeting his anxious gaze, and said; ‘lt
i 1 all well —all is forgiven. Becalm; you
arc better, Gad be praised/ I ask no more.’
I could not speak. Ilts kindness, his affec
tion, wounded me worse than ten thousand
daggers. I covered my eyes with my hand,
and wept. When I was strong enough to
bear it, my sister told me al! that had happened.
Alice had confessed to her every thing. The
substance was this:
‘Coltins had some years before mot Alice
Clair at a boarding-school in the city, and he
fell violently in love with her. He was then
an exile from home for hts vices, and was liv
ing in the city, without plan or object. His
assumed name was Cowles, to prevent his
friends from hearing of his pranks. Alice
had been pleased with his manners, and re
ceived his attentions, in walking in the street,
to hold an umbrella over her when caught in
a shower, and to bow with a smile when she
met him; to be al home when he called to see
her; as far as a school miss can go, in a love
matter, she had been; which is just no Way
at all. The word love never had entered her
head; she was gratified in being noticed and
admired, and felt grateful for his kindness and
attentions in biing'ing her new books and mu
sic. But with the playful coquetry of a clild,
she had impressed the h- art of Collins with a
lasting devotion. She did not know how much
he loved her. 'i he principal of the school
had always allowed his visits, until ascertain
ing the knowledge of his true character, and
seeing some instances of hts misdemeanor one
night at the theatre, he was dismissed from
the acquaintance of the ladies, and Alice
thought no more of him.
Soon after, she U turned home, and was con
tinually persecuted with letters, which were
returned unread. At last, he went to F ,
and behaved like a madman; threatened to
kill himself in the presence of her father and
mother, and committed other extravagances,
which would have subjected him to arrest,
hid he net left town. All these facts were
never hinted to me, during my stay at N .
Probably they were forgotten, exeej t by the
parlies more immediately interested.
No wonder some surprise was ma iTested
at seeing myscil and Collins ride info town to
gether. Well, alter 1 had left Collins, and
departed for Albany, he by a bribe found out
my object in going thither, and immediately
followed me on the next day. With a mine)
already shattered by excess, and stimulated to
insani'y, he imagined himself the victim of
treachery, and determined on consummate
vengeance on both of tis. The reader knows
the rest. The wound I received nearly prov
ed fatal. My father was summoned, perhaps
to attend my funeral. Mr. Clair followed us,
so soon as he got wind of our intended visit,
to protect his daughter from two madmen, and
arrived the day after the result. Alice was
taken home with difficulty. Mr. Clair was
inexorable. Some gratitude was expressed
in a letter written to me by him after he heard
of my recovery, for saving the life of bis child.
‘When you are older and more settled. ’ it
said,‘in your views, if you ever are, I shall
be glad to show you how much I tun willing
to forget, for the sake of jour happiness and
that of my child. You have perhaps unwit
tingly destroyed the peace ofm - family. You
do not know the- pain you have inflicted.
Time must elapse. Y our case is net hopeless.
All depends upon vourself.’
My sister tn a few days gave me a lock of
black glossy hair, tied with a blue ribbon. It
needed rot to tel! me where it came from. 1
have worn it next to mv heart ever since that
fatal morning. It is now placed before me,
and tears course down my cheeks as I record
this passage in my history, and look upon ail
that i.s left in this world of one who might
have made this earth a heaven to any man,
but one incapable of estimating the value, or
rather incapable of profiting by the gift, of her
uffi.eticns.
Collins was released, bv my father’s request,
after the question of my danger nit? over, and
went I know not whither. From that day to
tiiis, I have never heard of him. '1 he money
of his in my possession was placed in the
hands of a iawver, and no trace can be found
oi' his connections or of himself, by the most
careful search.
We returned to my father’s house. Hard
ly had we arrived, when we heard of the sud
den death of Alice Clair. Worn out by fa
tigue and disappointment, she was attacked
bv fever, which was followed bv delirium ;
mid she went, out of a cruel world, uncotisci
ous ofher misery. My cup of bitterness was
lull. I neither hoped, nor excited expecta
tion. Iv. as considered a broken, ruined man.
1 remained some time a burthen upon my fa
ther’s hands, leading a harmless but restless,
good-for-nothing life, which only doubles the
misery of existence.
Time works wonders. I began to have
hopes of myself, and determined to leave my
native city; to give up all old acquaintances;
to go afar from all vho knew me- 1 made
arrangements to receive annually a email sum,
to enable me to cany my projects into execu
tion, and bidding adieu to tdl those I truly lov
ed, and who 1 knew still loved mo, I embarked
on board a packet bound for New-Orleans.
OLD AitF.
EY Ki.r. C. C. COLTON, AUTIIOR OF ‘LACON.’
Tuou anti-climax in life’s wrinkled page.
Worst end of bt:d beginning—helpless Age!
Thou sow’st the thorn, though longtbc flow er hath fled;
Alive to torment, but to transport dead;
Imposing still, through time's still rough’ning road,
With strength diminish’d, an augmented load:
Slow herald ofthc tomb! sent but to make
Man curse that giftless gift then wilt not take:
When hope and patience both give up the strife,
Death is thy cure—for thy disease is life!
EXAM
His faults that in a private station sit?.
Do mainly harm him only that commit::
I hose placed 011 high a brightexample owe —
Much to themselves, more to the crowd below.
A paltry watch, in private pocket borne,
Misicnps but him alone by whom ’tis worn;
But the towmclock, that steeples ofl dis; lie-,
By going wrong, leads h; If ;| !C town ae'rsv.
THE SINKING SHIP.
At the beginning of November, in the year
1807. his Majesty’s line of battleship **** was
detached from the squadron in Basque Roads,
commanded by Sir Henry Bttrrad Neal, for
the purpose of procuring water at the Glennati
Rocks, a very strange cluster of both high and
sunken ones, lying off L’Orient. On one of
the highest stands a fort well protected from
British assault by its intricate and rocky situ
ation. The November sum, on the Sabbath
morning on which our ship was rutmittg care
lessly off’ the wind with the top gallant sails
and foresails set, almost rivalled a splendid
June’s; and as tiie noble warike fabric mo
ved gracefully over the waters, amid this dan
gerous ciUst-T of rocks, at the rate of five
miles an hour, every heart seatneu dilated, and
every eye beamed with pleasure, for indeed
the duy was most joyous, and, fur the time of
year, uncommon. In a moment, and without
warning, I with the rest on the quarter deck
was prostrated, and heard the solid o; k rent
and torn by the hard rock, on which she ran
with her bows high in the air. while her stern
in proportion was depressed—it must have
been pointed like a steeple, for this vast body
sailed over and shipped a vast quantity of wa
ter through the lower deck ports. Hie shout
of surprise and horror from six hundied men,
with the universal cry of “ Lower down the
port!” was astounding. “ Throw all aback!”
shouted the Captain, “ and signaliza Sir Geo.
Collier that he is st Hiding into danger.”
“ II': has anchored, sir. with the same sig
nal to us flying at his must, head.”
Our captain looked much agitated, and I
thought bis commission not worth a straw, for
we had conic into this dangerous predicament
without a pilot, or any precaution by chart or
lookout; and God knows, our situation could
not be worse—sticking on a rock that has al
ready sent alongside forty feet of our keel—tn
the Bay of Biscay, and insight of an enemy’s
squadron in L’Orient, who now, by bending
sails, evinced a disposition to finish us. The
rush of water into the ship was plainly heard
from the lower deck, as I, by the order of the
captain, transported the foremost guns aft, the
tide being then flowing. “ 1 have sent fur you,”
said my captain, witli salerntiit.y, “to give you
the same chance as others. The ship will
float off’ into the deep water immediately ; but
how long she may remain buoyant on that wa
ter God only knows ; from the carpenter’s re
port, I dread the worst. Cheer them up at
the pumps.”
At length the swelling tide lifted her off, and
she swung round into deep water; all sail
was made, standing out on the reverse course
to that we had entered.
“Telegraph Sir George Collier,-to keep his
frigate as near us as possible, as we are in a
state of great distress, and making more wa
ter than I choose shall be known.” Both
ships with miraculous luck cleared the Gicn
nan rocks, and bore up fur Plymouth with a
favcrable light breeze, al! the pumps going.
At six P. M. the mon wcro placed in three
watches, and one watch ordered to get their
suppers and two hours’ sleep, on the host way
they could, by planking it on the- wet deck.
At nine the captain gave an order that the
officeisof the middle watch should turn in,
and down I went, from the very dark night
and a murkey sky—water in the vessel rather
on the increase—and in two minutes was asleep
in my cot, having used that short time’to ad
dress the sinner and pi bltcan’s prayer to Hea
ven, and God knows I felt every word that 1
uttered. It was one of these dreaming sleeps
where the mind, from the midst of danger,
turns to the happy past.
“ I dreampt of my home, of my dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn,
While memory stood tideways half cover’d with flow 'rs,
And restored every rose, but secreted each thorn.”
From these soothing and delightful visions
I was roused by the tenor voice of a midship,
mat), who woke me from this blissful state, by
telling me that the captain wanted every per
son on deck. “What of the leak, and the
night?” asked I, putting on my coat.
“ Both bad enough,” replied lie, io a tr< mu
lotts voice. “The one gaining slowly on the
pumps, and he other losing its brightness, for
no stars can be seen—not the Frigate’s lights.”
“ Why do we not fire a gun frequently ?”
“The carpenter thinks that it would have a
fatal effect on the shattered frame of the ship.”
“May God keep oft' the wind,” said the
youngster, “ for it requires veiy little to lav us
in Davy Jolies’locker,” and w ith tins conso
latory information I reached the quarter-dot.k,
on which the sailmaker’s crew were .thrum
ming a lower studding sail, by the “light of
lantern’s dimly burning;” al! the carpenters
•sere repairing the lau eh by the same kind »f
light, and getting the boats ready that could
only bear otic third of the crew from destruc
tion; a blue light on each quarter was throw
ing itsghastly glare on the sin roundiiig obj cts,
while the noble ship seemed laboring with
unusual weight, and much depressed by the
head : her maintopsail lay to the mast, and the
leak increased as she was pressed through the
water. Iho clank of the chain pumps, with
the very faint cheers from those : .tl>at worked
them, was any thing but exhiiarati'ig, and the
great anxiety 0 meed for the sight of, and an
swering the blue lights from Sir George Col
lier, proved that our situation was not under
rated. These sights, in the Bay of Biscay,
on a misty November night, struck a damp
chill to my heart, and eff. dually bani-duid the
beautiful visions engendered by my broken
slumbers.
“ Did you particularly want mo, sir?” ad
dressing my captain, who looked pale aud agi
tated.
“ Cheer the men a| tho pumps, by splicing
the main brace ; and hark ye—water it, fur
fear of drunkenness. Send the first lieuten
ant and master to assist me in getting the
thrummed sail under her bottom ; for under
Heaven, that and Sir George Collier are our
only dependence. What think you of the
night ?”
“A Scotch mist,” replied I. “but no wind
of consequence under twelve hours, and then,
[ trust fair for Plymouth.”
“ May God in his infinite mercy so order it!”
said the captain, in a very pious tone; for. in
the course of my long experience. 1 have al
ways found even the most reprobate turn to
that power that lias controlled the wind and
the waves, and put llnir trust alone in un
bounded mercy.
At the chain pumps I found the men dis
heartened and liiligtii.'d, nnd the words "beech
her l (meanieg thereby to run lo r ashore)
escaped them, as tho w inches slowly revolved
under their diminished power.
“ It is an iron-b niud eoast,” said !, “nnd in
God 3 mercy, and our own exertions, w e must
trust. Spell, oh !” ami a fresh gang took their
turn at the winches. A blue light and a gun
fiom tiie li ig :‘e, gave us new lift at the pumps,
and a midshipman came down with the joyful
intelligence that Sir George Collier Was clos<
up to us, and the fathered sale wae under her
in excellent style, and they were then Lauling
on the yard ropes to press it close to the leaks,
which gradually soaked it in, and diminished
the water one half. “ Hurrah, hurrah !” and
round flew the winches with life and spirit.
■‘Fill tho maintopsail on her!” shouted the
captain, and the noble ship again breasted the
waters.
A heavy weight seemed to be lifted from our
breasts., and every eye belt med with greater
animation. Even the blue lights which sig
nalized Sir George Collier did net cast such a
sepulchral glare on surrounding objects, and
the chain pumps revolved and clanked with
more spirit, as Chip, tho carpenter, announced
that we gained on the leak ; “ hurrah ! hurrah !
to get her dry out.” and the cranks went mar
rily round. It was most merciful that the
wind continued very moderate, and even the
usual Biscay swell had subsided in our favor.
The slightest sea in our shattered state would
have proved fatal, and anxious glances at the
sky and barometer were very frequent. In
fifty-two hours after floating off the Pigeon
Rock, off' L'O'ietit, vt e anchored in Cowsand
bay, with (he signal of distress, and in want of
immediate assistance, flying at our mast head.
This was answered by draughts of men from
the squadron, who kept us afloat till taken in
to Graving dock, where we safely entered with
guns, powder, and stores. It was considered
a miracle that a ship could float so rent and
torn.
Friendship:■ —Though tho cultivation of
friendship is not made the subject of precept,
it is left to grow up of itself under the general
culture of reason and religion ; it is one of the
fairest productions of the human soul, the cor
dial of life, the lenitive ofour sorrows, and the
multiplier of our joys—the source, equally, of
animation and of repose. He who is destitute
of this blessing, amidst the greatest crowd and
pressure of society, is doomed to solitude; and
however surrounded with flatterers and admir
ers, however armed with power, and rich in
endowments of nature and of fortune, has no
resting place. Tho most elevated station in
life affords no exemption from those agitations
and inquietudes which can only be laid to rest
upon the bosom of a friend. The sympathies
1 even of virtuous minds, when not warmed by
I the breath of friendship, are too faint and cold
to satisfy the social ciavings of our nature;
ilieir compassion is too much dissipated by the
multiplicity of its objects and the varieties of
distress, to suffer it to flow long in one channel;
while the sentiments of congratulation are still
more slight and superficial. A transient tear
of piety, or a smile of complacency equally
transient, is all we can usually bestow on the
scenes of happiness or of misery which we
meet with in the paths oflife. tut man na
turally seeks for a closer union, a more ner
rnanent conjunction of interest, a more intense
reciprocation of feeling ; he finds the want of
one or more with- whom he can intrust the se
crets of his heart and relieve himself by im
parting the interior joys and sorrows with
i which every breast is fraught: he seeks, in
short, another self, a kindred spirit, whose in
terest in his welfare bears some proportion to
his own, with whom he may lessen his cares
by sympathy, and multiply his pleasures by
participation..
WINTER.—A Forest Song.
BY C. WEBBE.
C .me, old girl, nnd by the fira
Let us comfortably cling,
While the surley storm grows higher.
And the wild winds hoarsely sing!—
This is not a night, I’m thinking.
For old bones out-doors to bustle,
' When the stubborn oaks are shrinking
From the elemental tussle.
Clap the door to!—there, the wind
Saves your trembling hands that troubio!
Look, your old locks stream behind.
And the cold has bent you double!
Mind not Crumpiy:—she, I warrant.
Finds some where ashed for shelter:
( She can bide the wintry torrent,
And the mad storm’s helter-skelter!
Night, and gloom, and storms are round us,
Heed not—they can ne’er confund us,
While our household shines so cheerly
Ob, that every thing that's human
Cared as little for the storm!
Child and old man—weakening woman.
Safe and fed, and housed and warm!
Thou who pouredst the mighty waters,
Be with them that swim the sea!
j Be. with thy poor sons and daughters
Wandering earth in misery!
j Let thy tender hand, outstretched
Over their uncovered heads,
Keep them, howsoever wretched.
Safe as rich men in their beds!
From the Knickerbocker—for December.
TIIE POOR RELATION.
AN AUTHENTIC STORY FROM REAL LIFE.
1 It was in tho early days of Codman county,
that Eldred Worthington swung his axe upon
his shoulder, and departed to seek his fortune
in her almost untrodden wilds. Like thou
sands of others, the early pioneers of our kind.
“ he kept bachelor’s hall,” until ho had “ made
an opening, and reared his rustic cot.” Then,
with buoyant heart, he returned to the place of
his nativitv. to claim the plighted hand of Miss
Abiah Perley, to become hts help mate in hi.»
future ItotriO.
To those who know anything of the diffi
culties encountered by tho first settlers, it will
bo unnecessary to portray the toils and hard
ships they had to overcome, before thesnvage
was driven farther back to his forest-lair.
They went forward, growing with the growth ■
of the place; and. in a series of years, rear- j
it g n family of eight sons and four daughters. 1
It was a natural wish of the oarents that their I
children should not suffer for want of educa
tion, as they themselves had done in early life ;
nnd hence they yielded to their particular
wishes. Benjamin, the eldest, desired t« be a '
limb of the law; the second was for physic,
and had his choice; and Thomas, the third, '
also, was much gratified, when arrangements i
were made for his departure to a neighboring '
s '.-i.port, (0 serve a mercantile apprenticeship. 1
His father was so fortunate as to place him in
the house of an old acquaintance, Mr. John '
Ho-MUi i-il, one of rhe first merchants of the citv.
This gentleman, having commenced life with
nothing but hts hands. h«d become extensively ;
conci-rued ia consource. It was the very I
field for the mercantile propensity of Thomas. I
Vol. V—No.
‘ He devoted himself with unceasing assiduity *
i won the confidence of his employer; was
atadc supercargo of bis vessels 111 several voy
ages; ai d finally, as the good ship Ajat was
bound on an East India voyage, he ugam beds
farewell to his friends, anil went forth upon
the distant seas. He was faithful to the itu
portant trusts reposed in him. ’1 he ship was
laden and ready to return ; when, to the sad
dismay of all on board, who were greatly at
tached to him, he could net be found I Every
effort was made, for weeks and wc< ka, but the
ship was finally compelled to sail without him.
Sad was the news fur his disconsolate pa
rents, and his good master, Mr. Howufdi
Conjecture followed conji cture, hut all Was
mysterious and appalling. The Ajax return
ed again to the Indies. The strictest injunc
tions were made by Mr. Howard, that no ef*
torts should be wanting i;> the endeavor to dis.
covor the fate which had befallen his young
friend. Captain Bradshaw, n most excellent
man, was indefatigable ; but deeply did he de.
plore the day that once mote compelled him to
weigh anchor, without the slightest 'idings to
cheer tho anxious parents. Ti.oiigh no voy»
age was made to the Indies f<>r many years nt.
lerward, without all possible inquiries, yet the
conviction had almost ripened into certainty,
that the young man had been murdered, per.
haps in the hope of booty, at his last visit to
the shore, among an unknown people.
Years rolled away. The region of Cod*
man countv advanced rapidly in settlement,
et terprize, and industry VV itefe onto stood
the farm of the elder Worthington, now the
thriving, bustling, and enterprising village ot
Weckford shot up its aspiring head, with its
immense factories, its capacious stores, and
rich and tasteful dwellings. It was upon the
banks of one of the noblest rivers in the World,
where the el ler Worthington had sagaciously
sat himself down, relying upon Ins axe and his
arm. But how little did he think, that ere fif
ty years had rolled away, the acres he then
reclaimed would become the abode of thou,
sands, and hirnself thereby rendered one of th*
wealthiest men of Codman county. Yet this
is but one case of that talismanic power which
has converted the forest into cities, und giveu
to the poor great riches, in the mighty march
of enterprize, industry, and intelligence, in ths
marvellous realm of fbe New Worki. Week,
ford had become a place of great note. It
was a central point of t.ade for the surround.
iog country, which was peopling with ast on
isbiug rapidity ; and all contributed to give an
importance to the family of the Worthingtons.
Thoy were not only very rich, tut were emi
nent in the estimation ot “ all the region reund
about.” Tho sons had grown up under all
the advantages which wealth and connexion
could impart. They had studi'.d learned pro
fessions, as a matter of course, and settled in
Weckford, reiving upon the immense wealth
u hich the extraordinary rise of property had
poured into the lap of the family. Honors
thickened upon them. Benjamin was twic-a
elected to Congress, and all the brothers weru
at times elevated to favor in the municipality,
or the honors of State partialities.
The father and mother of this numerous fa
mily were now in the vale of years. The
prude ce, economy, and simplicity, which won
the esteem of all, and laid the foundation of
their wealth, continued to shed a benign tnflu
ence over their declining days. They were
the very antipodes ot the new races wh'j had
come upon the stage of human action ; and
often did they deplore, in the bosom of their
own domes ic circle, that heartless etiquette
and cold formality, which had renderod their
children so ambitious to eu’shine others, and
to be looked up to as the exclusives of YY’cck.
ford. But there was a deeper feeling still,
which hung heavily over their wasting years j
the pai..lni disappearance of their son, who
had ever been th ir favorite, but who had also
been regarded by the brothers a: d sisters with
that unnatural jealously which such a feeling
is apt to beget in the minds of mere worldlings.
I t October of this year, the aged veteran wai
forewarned, by the insidious influences ot
flickering moi talitv, that he was soon to bo
“gathered to his fathers:”
“ Fur Time, though oH, is strong in flight i’
Years had rolled swiftly by.
And Autumn’s falling loaf foretold.
The good old man must die;”
and, with the prudence, forsiglit, and calmness,
which had actuated htm through all bis well,
spent life, he sent for his estimable attorney,
(he honorable Phillip Longfellow, ai d by his
“last will and testament” divided his immense
estate equally between his children; but art
especial provision was ins rted, reserving in
the hands ot a trustee, during the period of*
twenty years, an equal portion nf the whole
estate for Thomas, the incon e of which waste
b • aneually divided among all ihu children.
The trustee was to use all diligence in the al
most forlorn hop;’’ of endeavoring to gain
tidings of the long lost son. The wido v. be
side her “thirds,” had some hem fices, which
were to go to the lost son, should he ever b«
discovered; bat if no intelligence should bo
gained, wilhi 1 the twenty years, then the w hole
reservations were to be equally divided among
the other children.
Winter nt h ng’h came, with its awful g».
verity to lengthened lite, and the good old Mr.
Worthit gto 1 , mourned by all the villagers, was
followed to the family vau't. in the Oakland*
1 of Mount Pleasant, at the ripe age of ninety,
eight years. There is a wedded sympathy
between those who have been United in true
love, that but ripens with the lapse of time.
Sixty-nine years had passed away, since Miss
Abiah Perley left her paternal abode, for Uitf
rude but rural cot of Weckford. She had
lived, curing this long period, in the bonds of
holy love, a pattern ot utTection, kindness, and
peace; and the death of her husband severed
a chord which nothing on earth had power to
unite. It weaned her nffictions from this
world, and she sighed only to join him in that
“ better country” to which, in th ) fullness of
time, he had been called away j and in loss
than two weeks afterward, the last rites of
earth were performed over her departed spirit*
as her mortal nsh-s were laid beside his to
whom her soul had so long been wedded.
Several years had now elapsed since th®
death of the parents. Weckford had contin
ued to advance in population and wealth , and,
as a consequence, the Worthingtons had
grown richer and richer. They bad indeed
attained the apparent summit of their ainbi
lion, for none assumed to tival thorn in fashion,
wealth, or importance. They were the lead
ers he t w.i, and the very apex ofthe elite,
in al] things.
There were two principal streets in the vil.
Inge of Weckford. stretching along tho banka
of the river, as far as the eve could reach*