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BY JAMES W. JOAES.
* The Southern Whig,
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StWJES
i V J
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Athens, Sept. 23,—21—tf
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open
. ing at his Store, his supplies of
FALE. WINTER C3-OO3JS, '
7 i
which coinbind with his former Stock, render I
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Ecnnsts.
A ruse ofhandsome English Straw and Florence |
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Oct. 14,-24—tf
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JAMES M, WARE, Adm’r.
Oat. 7—23—4 m.
MONTHS after date, application will
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JOHN B ADAIR, Adm’r.
Sept. IS—2o—
after date, application will bo '
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C’lark Bounty, when sitting fer ordinary purpose
e«, for leave to sell al! the real Estate* of Eliza
belli Goodwin, Jate of said County deceased. I
THOMAS MOORE, Adm’r. |
Oct. 28—20—4 m
GEORGIA CLARK COUNTY.
Here AS Edward L. Thomas, Admin
» ■ istrator outlie estate of John W. Thoin
,ns, deceased, applies for letters of dismission. I
This is therefore to cite and admonish all and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
•peaseil, to be and appear at my office within the
•time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if nnv
they have) why sai l letters should not be grant
ed. Given under my hand this 17th Julv, 1537.
G. B.* HAYGOOD, n. c. c. o.
.July 22-^l2—6m.
GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY.
HERE AS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis
• ’ trator of the Estate ofEdward Harrison,
deceased, applies t » me for Letters of dismission, '
This is therefore to cite and admonish all. and
(lingular the kindred and creditors of said de-1
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause (it’any
they have) why said letters should not be grant- j
cd,
b G ' l V^ l y Und< ‘ F ’■’? ll * nd ’ this 20th dayofOeto- !
E. M. JOHNSON, c. c. o.
Oct. 21,- —25—6:n
GEORGIA, (LARK COUNTY.
WHEREAS, Wm. Thomas, Sr. Administra-'
tor of Drury Thomas dnc-’J. applies for
letters of dismission,
This is therefore to cite and admonish all, and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, lobe and appear at n;y office within the
time prescribed by law to shew cause (ifarv
they have) why said letters should not be grant
pd.
G. B. HAYGOOD, ». c. c. o. !
August s,—l4—6ni
Southern Whig
From the Louisville Journal.
MY SIST’EKS,
Like flowers that softly bloom together,
Upon one fair and fragile stem,
Mingling their sweets in sunny weather,
Ere strange rude hands have parted them,
So wero we linked unto each other,
Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours,
For then one fond and gentle Mother
To us was like the stem to flowers.
She was the golden thread that bound us
In one bright chain together here,
’Till Death unloosed the cord around us,
And we were severed far and near.
The flowret’s stem, when broke or shattered,
Must cast, its blossoms to the wind,
Yet round the buds, tho’ widely scattered,
The same soft perfume still we find ;
And thus, altho’ the tie is broken
That linked us round our mother’s knee,
The memory of words we’ve spoken
When we were children light and free,
Will, like the perfume of each blossom,
Live in our hearts where’er we roam.
As when we slept on one fond bosom
And dwelt within one happy home.
1 know thatjChanges have come o’er us,
Sweet Sisters, we are not the same,
For different paths now lie before us,
And all three have a different name ;
And yet, if sorrow's dimming fingers
Ilavo shadowed o’er each youthful brow,
So much of light around them lingers,
I cannot trace those shadows now.
Ye both have those who love ye only,
Whose dearest hopes are round ye thrown —
While, like a stream that wanders lonely,
Am I, the youngest, wildest one.
My heart is like the wind that bearcth
Sweet scents upon its unseen wing—
The wind ! that for no creature careth,
Yet stealeth sweets from every thing.
It hath rich thoughts forever leaping
Up, like the waves of flashing seas
That with their music still arc keeping
Soft time with every fitful breeze.
Each leaf that in the bright air quivers,
Tite sounds from hidden solitudes,
And the deep flow of far-off rivers, '*
And the loud rush of many floods,
All these, and more, stir in my bosom
Feelings that make my spirit glad
Like dew-drops shaken in a blossom,
And yet there is a something sad
M xcd with those thoughts, like clouds, that hover
Above us in die quiet air,
Veiling the Moon’s pale beauty over
Like a dark spirit brooding there.
But, Sisters —these wild thoughts were never
Yours, for ye would not love like mo
To gaze upon the stars forever —
To hear the wind's wild melody—
Ye’d rather look on smiling faces,
And linger round a cheerful hearth,
Than mark tho stars’ bright hiding places
As they peep out upon the earth.
But, Sisters, as the stars of even
Shrink from day’s golden flashing eye,
And, melting in the depths of heaven,
Veil their soft beams within the sky,
So will we pass, the joyous-hearted,
The fond, the young, like stars that wane,
’Till every link of earth be parted
To form in Heaven one mystic chain.
AMELIA.
From the Liuisvillc Journal.
i Poulius I’ilale at Vieissae.
[ Translated and abridged from the “ Courrici
des Elats Unis.”
{ Vienne in Dauphiny, a province of France,
i the ancient capital of transalpine Gaul under
i the Romans, is situated on the river Rhone.
| There, on the kit bank of that beautiful stream,
I is seen a tomb of an ancient architecture,
which, according to tradition, is the tomb of
Punlious Pilate—Pilate, under whose govern.
i meat Jesus Christ suffered. Passas est sub
j I‘ontio Pilalo. It was in Vienne also that the
! Wandering Jew revealed himself m 1777—a
ui-sl remarkable occurrence, the spot that con
1 taitied the ashes of the judge of the Righteous.
' was to be trodden upon by a descendant of his
accuser.
j The following chronicle was extracted Item
I an old Latin manuscript found in a monastery
near Vienne.
t It Was under the reign of Caligula, when C.
Marcius was praetor at Vienne, that an old man,
bent with age, yet of a tall stature, was seen to
descend from his litter and enter a house of
modest appearance near the temple of Mars.
I Over the door of this house was written, in red
; letters, he name of F. Albums. II ■ was an
■ old acquaintance ol Pilate’s. Aller mutual sa
i lutatious, Albums observed to him, that many
' years had elapsed since their separation.—
'; “ Yes,” r. plied I’date, “ many years —years of
■ misfortune and affliction. Accursed be the day
1 on which I succeeded Valerius Grutusin the
j government ot Judea ! My name is ominous;
I it his been fatal to whomsoever has bo rue it.
One of my ancestors imprinted an indelible
I mm k of infamy on the fair front of Imperial
| Rome, when the Romans passed under the
j Cindintc Eurcuhe in the S umiile war. An
; other pt rished by the hands of the Parthians
l in the war against Armmius. And I—miser
able me !
I ‘*You miserable?” asked Albinus; what
have you done to entail misery on you I True,
the injustice ot Caligula has exiled you to Vi
enne, but for what crime? I have examined
your affair at the Tabularim. You are de
nounced by V itellus, prefect of Syria, your i n
cmy, fur having chastised the rebellious He
brews, who had slain the most noble of the
Samaritans, and who afterwards withdrew
I themselves on Mount Garigim. You are also
1 accused of acting thus out of hatred against the
Jews,”
“ No 1” repljed Pilate, “ No ! bv all the gods,
; Albinus, it is not the i. justice of Ciesai that
| afflicts nie.”
“ What then is the cause ofy mtr i.fll cti m?”
I continued Albinos. “Long have 1 known you
—sensible,just, humane. I see it ; —you are
the victim of Vitcllus.”
“Say not so, Albimts--Say not that I am
'the victim of Vi tel', us—No: 1 :nn the victim
ofu Higher Power! The Romans regard
me as an object of Cißsar’s disgrace ; the Jews,
as the severe Proconsul ; tin: Christians, us \lm
, executioner of their God!”
‘‘Of their God, did you say, Pilate?—lmpi
i ous wretches!-—Adore a God born in a man
ger, and put to death on the cross
I “ Beware, Albinus, beware 1” co itinued Pi
late. “If the Christ i)ad be m born under the
> purple, he would not have been adored. Lis
j ten. To \ our |rieudshi;> I "ill submit the
I r I
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. ”—Je/7'erSo.’l.
events of tny life; you will afterwards judge
wlmther 1 am worthy of your hospitality.”
On tny arrival at Jerusalem, I took posses
sion of the Pretorium, at.d ordered a splendid
feast to be prepared, to which I invited the
Tetrarch of Judea, with the high priest and
his officers. At the appointed hour, no guest
appeared. This was an insult offered to my
dignity. A few days afterwards, the Tetrach
deigned to pay me a visit. His deportment
was grave and deceitful. He pretended 1:1111
his religion forbade him and his attendants to
sit down at the table of the Gentiles, and to
offer up libuii'“.!S with them. I‘thought it
expedient to accept of his excuse; but from
that moment I was convinced th’at the con
quered had declared themselves the enemies
of the conquerors.
At that time, Jerusalem was, of all conquer
ed cities, the most difficult to govern. So tur
bulent were tho people, that 1 lived in momen
tary dread of an insurrection. To repress it,
I had but a single Centurion, and a handful of
soldiers. I requested a reinforcement lio n
the Prefect of Syria, who informed uie that he
had scarcely troops sufficient to defend his
own province. Insatii/fe’thirst of empires!—
to extend our conquests beyond the means of
defending ‘.hem !
Among the various rumors which came to
tny ears, there was one that attracted my at
tention. A young man, it was said, had ap
peared in Gallilee, preaching with a noble
miction, a new law in the name of tho God
who had sent him. At first, I was apprehen
sive that his design was to stir up the people
against tho Romans; but soon were my fears
dispelled. Jesus of Nazareth spoke rather as
a friend of tho Romans than of the Jews.
One day, in passing by tho place of Siloe, j
where there was a great concourse of people, }
I observed, in the midst of the group, a young |
man leaning against a tree, who was calmly
addressing the multitude. I was told that it ;
was Jesus. 'This 1 could easily have suspect- !
ed, so great was the difference between him ’
mid those who were listeni: gto him. He ap- i
peared to bs about thirty years of age. His
golden colored hair and beard gave to his ap
pearance a celestial aspect. Never have 1
seen a sweeter or a more serene countenance.
What a contrast between him and his heirers,
with their black beards and tawny complex
ions ! Unwilling to interrupt him by my pre
sence, I continued rny walk, but signified to my
Secretary to join the group and listen.
My Secretary’s name was Manlius. lie
“■■" s th e grandson of the c hies of the conspira
tors, who encamped in Etrusia, waiting lor
Catalina. Manlius was an ancient inhabi
tant of Judea, and well acquainted with the
IL bren-language. He was devoted to me,
and was worthy of my confidence.
On returning to the Pretorium, I found Man
lius, wh.j related to me tho words that Jesus
had pronounced M Siloe. Never hale I heard
m the Portico, or read in the works oi the phi
losophers, any thing that can be compared to
the maxims of Jesus. One of the rebellious
Jews, so numerous in Jerusalem, having asked
him if it was lawful to give tribute to Caesar
or not, Jesus replied: Render unto Casar the
things which are Ccesar’s and unto God the
things that are God's.
It was on account of the wisdom of his say
ings that I granted so much liberty to the Na
zarene; for it was in my power to have had
him arrested and exiled to Pontus; but this
would have been contrary to that justice which
has always characterized the Romans. This
man was neither seditious nor rebellious. 1
extended to him my protection, unknown
perhaps to himself. He was at liberty to act,
to speak, to assemble and address the people,
to choose disciples, unrestrained by any preto
rian mandate.
Should it ever happen—may the Gods avert
the omen ! —should it ever happen, 1 say, that
the religion of our forefathers be supplanted by
the religion of Jesus, it will be to Ins noble tol
eration that Rome shall owe her premature ob
sequies—whilst I, miserable wretch!—/shall
have been the instrument of what the Chris
tians call Providence, and we—Destiny.
But this unlimited freedom granted to Jesus,
revolted the Jews—not the poor, but the rich
and powerful. It is true, Jesus was severe
on the latter; and this was a political reason,
iu my opinion, not to control the liberty of the
Nazarene. “ Scribes and Pharisees 1” would
he sav to them, “volt arc a race of vipers!—
you resemble painted sepulchres!” At other
times be would sneer at the proud alms of the
Publican, telling him that the mile es the wid
ow was more precious in the sight of God.
New complaints were daily made at the Pre
tori ,m against the insolence of Jesus. 1 was
even informed that some misfortune would be
fall him—that it would not be the first time
that Jerusalem had stoned thaso who callud
themselves prophets—and that, if the Pretori
um refused justice, an appeal would be made
( to Ctv stir.
i This I had prevented, by informing Caesar of
! all th t happened. My conduct was ap iroved
of by the Senate, anil I was promised a rein
forcemeat of troops after the termination of the
Parthian war.
Being too weak to suppress a sedition, I re
solved upon adopting a measure that promised
j to re-establish tranquillity iu the city, without
I subjecting the Preturinm to humiliating con-
I cessions. 1 wrote to Jesus, requesting an in
! terview with him at the Prctorium. lie came.
1 Oh, Albinus ! now that my blood runs cold in
I my veins and that my body is bent down un
| der the load es years, it is not surprising th it
I Pilate should sometimes tremble; but tliev I
I was young—in mv veins flowed the Spanish,
mixed with the Roman blood, as incapable of
| fear as it was of pian iJe emotions.
\\ hen the Nazarene made his appearance, I
! was walking in mv basiiick, and mv feet seem
| ed fastened, with an iron hand, to the marble
| pavement, lie was calm, the Nazarene—
j calm ns innocence. When he came up to me,
he stopped, and, by a simple gesture, seemed
i to say to me ; here I am.
For some tim:', I contemplated, with admi
; ration and with awe, this extraordinary type of
i a man—a type u drnown to our i.tmierous
i sculptors, who have r.ivcm form and figure to
! all tiie gods tied all the heroes.
i ‘".Jesus,” said Ito him at last—and mv tongue j
! tullceed—“Jesus ol Nazareth, I have granted ■
■ you, for these last three years, ample I’roedrim 1
■of speech; ;.or do 1 regret it. Your words i
; are those of a sage. I know riot whcthi rvoti ■
- h :ve read Socrates mid Plato ; but this 1 know,
' that there is in veiir discourses, a maj -stic sini
j plicity that clev.it; s you far above those great ■
philosophers. Th ■ < mpcror is informed of it;
and I, his humble representative jn this coun
try. am glad of having allowed you that liberlx
iot which you are su worthy. However, I
! must not e.cieeul from you, that ycttir discours-
■es have raised up against you powerful and
; i .vc eru’ce lemks. Neither is this surpri-jug.
ATHENS, UEOKdIA, SATURDAY, JAAVARY 6, 1838.
i Socrates had his enemies, and he fell a victim
to their hatred. Yours are doubly incensed:
against you, on account of your sayings;
against me, on ace :unt of the liberty extended
towards you. They even accuse me indirect
ly of being leagued with you, for the purpose
of depriving the Hebrews of the little civil pow
er which Rome has left to them. My request
—I do not say my orders—is, that you be more
circumspect for the future, and more tender in
• ■onuiog tbo ~e y our enenries, | C st they
; raise up against you the stupid populace, and
i compel me to employ tho instruments of jus
. (ico,
Th? Nazarene calmly replied :
“ Prince of the earth, your words proceed not
: from true wisdom. Say to the torrent to stop
| in the midst of the mountain because it will
j uproot the trees of the valley; the torrent will
j answer you, that, it obeys the law.-, of the i
Creator. God alone knows whither flow the
i waters of the torrent. A erily, I say unto you :
I before the rose of Sharon blossoms, the blood
[ of the just will be spilt.
j “Your blood shall not be spilt, “ replied I,
! with emotion. *■ You arc more precious in tny
| estimation, on account of your wisdom, than
I all these turbulent, and proud Pharisees, who
| abuse the freedom granted them by the Ro
’ mans, conspire against Caesar, and construe our
j bounty into fear. Insolent wretches!—They
i are not aware that the wolf of the Tiber some- I
I times clothes himself with tho skin of the
; sheep. I wiffprotect you against them. Aly
j Pretorium is open to you as u place of refuge
—it is a sacred asylum.”
i Jesus carelessly shook his head, and said,
with a graceful and divine smile :
“ When the day shall have come, there will
be no asylum for the Sou of Man. neither on
earth nor under the earth. The asylum of the
Just is there (pointing to the heavens.) That
which is written in the books of the prophets
must be accomplished.”
“Young inau,” answered I mildly, “you
oblige me to convert my request into an order.
The safety of the province which has been con
tided to my care, requires it. You must ob
serve more moderation in your discourses. Do
not infringe my orders ; you know them. May
happiness attend you. Farewell.”
“Prince of the earth,” replied Jesus, “ I
come not to bring war into the world, but peace,
love, and charity. I was born tho same day
oti which Caesar Augustus gave peace to the
Roman world. Persecution proceeds not from
me. I expect it from oth rs, and will meet it
in obedience to tho will of my Father, who has
shown me the way. Restrain,therefore,your
worldly prudence. It is not in your power to
arrest the victim at the foot of tpe tabernacle
of expiation.”
So saying, he disappeared like a bright sha
dow behind the curtains of the basilick.
Herod the Tetrarch, who then reigned in
Judea, and who died devoured by vermine,
was a weak and wicked .y-an, chosen by the
chiefs of the to ba (ho instrument of their
..aired. To him the enemies of Jesus address
ed themselves, to wreak their vengeance on
the Nazarene. Had lierod consulted his own
inclination, he would have ordered Jesus im
mediately to be put to death; but though proud
of his regal dignity, yet he was afraid of com
mitting an act that ought diminish his influ
ence with Ciesar.
Herod called on me one day at the Preto
riutn; andon rising to take leave, after some
insignificant conversation, he asked me what
was my opinion concerning the Nazarene.
I replied, that Jesus appeared to me to be
one of those grave philosophers that great na
tions sometimes produce: that bis doctrine was
by no means dangerous ; and that the inten
tion of Rome was, to leave him that, freedom
of speech which was justified by his actions.
Herod smiled maliciously, and saluting me with
ironical respect, he departed.
The great feast of the Jews was approach
ing ; and their iuteulion was to avail them
selves of the popular exaltation, which always
manifests itself at the solemnities of th# pas
sover. Tho city was overflo viug with a tu
multuous populace, clamoring for the death of
the Nazarene. My emissaries informed me
that the treasure of the Temple had been em
ployed in bribing the people. The danger
was pressing. A Roman centurion had been
insulted.
I wrote to tho prefect of Syria, requesting a
hundred foot soldiers and the same number of
cavalry. He declined. I saw myself alone
with a handful of veterans in the midst of a re
bellious city—too weak to suppress disorder,
and having no other choice left than to tolerate
it.
They had seized upon Jesus; and lit? sedi
tious rubble, although they knew they had no
thing to fear from the Prctorium. believing, on
the faith of their leaders, that 1 winked at their
sedition ; continued vociferating,—“Crucify
him, crucify him !”
Three powerful parties at that time had com-
■ bitied together against Jesus. First, the lle
redians and Sadducees, whoso seditious con
duct appeared to have proceeded from a double
motive: they hated the Nazarene, and were
impatient of the Roman voke. Ti.ey could
never forgive me tor having entered th "if holy
city with banners that bore the image of the
Roman emperor; and although, i.i this in
stance, I had committed a fatal error, yet the
sacrilege did t ot appear lei'3 heinous in their
eyes. Another grievance also rankled in their
I bosoms. I had proposed to employ a part of
j the treasure of the Temple in erecting edifices
|of public utility. My propose? was scowled
i at. The Pharisees were the avowed enemies
,of Jesus. They cared not for the Governor;
but they bore with bitterness the severe repri
mands which the Nazarene had, during three
years, been continually throwing out against
them wherever he went. Too weak and too
pusillanimous to act by themselves, they had
eagerly embraced the quarrel of the Ilerodi
ans and Sadducees. Besides these three par
ties. 1 had to contend against the reckless and
profligate populace, always ready to join in a
j sedition, and to profit by the disorder and con
fusion that result therctrom,
| Jesus was druggeu before the Council of the
Priests and condemned to death. It was then
I that the High Priest, Cuiap-has. performed a
! derisory act of submission. He sent his pris
j oner to me to pronounce his condemnation and
j secure his exocu'ion. 1 answered him that, as
' Jesus was a Galilean, the afl’uir came within
■ Herod’s jurisdiction, and ordered Jesus to be
I sent thither. The wily Tetrar, h professed
| humility, and protesting his deference to the
j ’.ieuteuniit ol Cicstii", he committed the fata of
’ the man to my hands-
Soon my palace assumed the arpccl of -r lie
sieged citadel ; every moment, increased the
■ number of the seditious. Jerusalem w,-.s inun
; dated with crowds Iron; the mountains of Nuz-
I areth, the towns ol Galilee, and the i l.iias of
; l.sdrelon. All Judea appeared io be pouring
; into that devoted city.
I had taken to wife a gi.l from among the
Gauls, who pretended to see into futurity.—
Weeping, and throwing herself at my feet,
! “ Beware,” said she to me, “ beware, and touch
I not that man, for ho is holy. Last night, I saw
I him in a vision. Ho was walking on the wa
! tors—he was flying on the wings of the wind,
lie spoke to the tempests, to the palm trees, to
the fishes of the lake—all were obedient to
him. Behold ! the torrent of Mount Cedron
flows with blood—tho statutes of Caesar are
j soiled with the filth of the gemornaj —the co
lumns of the Pretorium have given way, and
the sun is veiled in mourning like a vestal in
the tomb ! O, Pilate ! evil awaits thee. It
thou wilt not listen to the words of thy wife,
dread the curses of a Roman Senate —dread the
frowns of Caesar!”
By this time my marble stairs groaned un
j der the weight of the multitude. The Naza
; rene was brought back to me. I proceeded to
the Hall of Justice, followed by my guards,
and asked the people m a severe tone, what
they demanded ? “ The death of the Naza
retie,” was their reply. For what crime ?
I “He has blasphemed ; he has prophesied the
ruin of the Temple ; he calls himself the Son
of God—the Messiah—the King of the Jews.”
Roman justice, said I, punisheth not such of
fences v ith death. “ Crucify him, crucify
him !” shouted forth the relentless rabble.
The "vociferations of the infuriate multitude
shook the palace to i‘s foundation. .J.se mat! !
alone appeared calm in the midst of the tu
mult. He was like unto the Statue of Inno
cence placed in the temples of the Euminides.
It was the Nazarene.
After many fruitless attempts to protect him
from the fury of his merciless persecutors, I
had the baseness to adopt a measure which, at
that moment, appeared to me to be the only
out* that could save his life. I ordered him to
bo scourged ; then, calling for a ewsr, I wash
ed my hands in presence of the clamorous mul
titude, thereby signifying to them iny disap
probation of the deed.
But in vain. It was his life that these
wretches thirsted after. Often, in our civil
commotions, have I witnessed the furious ani
mosity of the multitude; but nothing could ever
be compared to v. hat I beheld in the present
instance. It might have been truly said that,
on this occasion, all the phantoms of the infer
nal regions had assembled together at Jerusa
lem, The crowd appeared not to walk; they
were borne off and whirled as a vortex, rolling
along like living waves, from the portal of tho
Pretorium even unto Mount Zion, with bow
lings, screams, shrieks and vociferations, such I
as were never heard either in (he seditions <vf
Panama, or in the tumults of the Forum.
By degrees the day darkened like a winter
twilight, such as had been seen at the death of
the great Julius Ccesar. It was likewise to
rai’d: life ides of March. I, the contemned
governor of a rebellious province, was leaning
against a column of my basilic, contemplating
athwart the dreary gloom, this Theory of Tar
tarus dragging to execution the innocent Naz
arene. All around me was a desert. Jeru
salem had vomited forth her iudweliers through
the funeral gate that leads to the Gemoriiae.
An air of desolation and sadness enveloped me.
My guard had joined the cavalry, and the Cen
turion, to display a shadow’ of power, was en.
deavoring to maintain order. I was left alone,
and my breaking heart admonished me, that
what was passing at that moment appertained
rather to the history of the gods than to that ol
man. Loud clamors were heard proceeding
from Golgotha; which borne on the winds ap
peared to announce an agony such as never had
been heard by mortal ear. Dark clouds low
ered over the pinnacle of the Temple, and their
large ruptures settled over the city and cover
ed it as with a veil. So dreadful Mere the
signs that were manifested, both in the heav
ens and on the earth, that Dionysius, the Are-
I opagite, is reported to have exclaimed : “Ei
ther the Author of Nature is suffering, or the
Universe is falling apart.
Towards (he first hour of the night, I threw
my mantle around me, and went down into the
city towards the gate of Golgotha. The sacri
fice had been consummated. The crowd were
returning home; siill agitated, it is true, but
gloomv, sad, taciturn, desperate. What they;
had witnessed, had struck them with terror and
remorse. I also saw my little Roman Cohort
pass by mournfully, the standard bearer having
veiled his Eagle in token of grief, and I over
heard some ot'the soldiers murmuring strange
words wh ch I did not comprehend. Others
were recounting prodigies almost similar to
those which had so often smote tiie Romans
w ith dismay by the will of the gods. Some
times groups of men and women would halt;
then, looking back towards Mount Calvary,
would remain motionless, in the expectation of
witnessing some new prudigv,
I returned to the Prctorium sad and pensive.
On ascending the stai) , the steps of which were
still stained with the blood of the Nazarene, I
perceived an old man in a suppliant posture,
and behind him, seveial womc.iin tears. He
threw himself at my feA, mid wept bitterly.—
It is painful tojsce an old man weep —‘Father,’
said Ito him mildly—“ who are you, and what
is your request ?” “I an Joseph of'Ari-
mathen,” replied he. “ and I am come to beg
of you, on my knees, the pt rmissiou to bury
Jesus of Nazareth,”—“Your prayer is grant
ed,” said I to him, and, at the same time, or
dered .Manlius to take some soldiers with him,
to superintend the interment, lest it might be
profaned. A few days afterwards, the s pul
chre was found empty. The disciples of
Jesus published all over the country that he had
risen from the dead, its he had foretold.
A last duty remained for me to perform, it
was to communicate to Crosar the details of
I this deplorable event, i did it the same night
that followed the fatal catastrophe, and btid
i just finished the communication when the dav
I began to dawn.
> At that moment the sound of clarions play
j ing the air of Diana, struck my ear. Casting
Imy eyes towards the cesarean gate. 1 beheld
j a troop of soldiers, and heard at a distance,
; other trumpets sounding Caesar's March. It
; was the reinforcement 'hat bad been promised
j me—two the’ sand chosen men, who, to hasten
; their arrival, had marched idl night. *• It has
I then been decreed by the Fates,” cried I,
wringing my hands, “that the great iniquity
should ba accomplished that, for the pur-
pose of averting the deeds of yesterday, troops
should artive today ! Critel destiny, liow thou
sportest with tho affairs of mortals! Alas ’it
was but too true, what the Ntizarene excl iim
ed w hen writhing mi the cross ; _.47Z is con
summated
A newspaper is a Bill of Faro containing
variety < f dishes, suited to the diff. rout tastes
I and appetites of those who sit down to the cm.
I iei taimnent. Polities are beef-stakes, palata-
I hie to almost every one. Congress mid Legis-
; lation are new stuffed meats. Electioneering
- is venison divinity, a fine oiled dish, of which,
, by a happy commixture in the use of meat and
vegetables, a diet is obtained, nutritive, agree
able, and healthy. Poetry is custard Mar
riages are sweet-meats. Ballads and love
dities are plumb puddings. Anecdotes, con
' undrums, and epigrams, are spice and mus-
I tard. Sometimes there comes along a priu-
I ter’s dun—that is sour-krout and cran-beriy
| tart.
j From the Gentleman's Magazine for Sept. 1837.
THAT BURIED VOICE.
BY MISS C. H. WATERMAN.
That buried voice is with me still,
Though silent long ago;
It whispers to me from the rill,
Where sparkling waters flow ;
It murmurs through the ancient woods,
In many a gentle moan —
And tells me, in my solitude,
I am not all alone ;
In many an echo sighing near,
That buried voice eomes on mine ear.
That buried voice, when all is hush’d
In soft repose around,
Breathes thro’ some flow’rthe windshave crush'd
Too early to the-ground ;
I hear it, as the breezes wave
The tall and slender grass,
For o’er thy sad and lonely grave,
Those summer breezes pass;
And they have linger’d by thy mound,
To bring me back its buried sound.
That buried voice,—in lighted halls
Where music weaves her spell.
Breathes to me through its dying fails,
Like some sad heart’s farewell.
1 hear it in the giddy throng,
When youth.and beauty meet.
To carol some remember’d song
Thy tones have made so sweet;
And in their soft and gentle strain, ‘
I hear that buried voice again. |
That buried voice—there’s not a breeze j
But wafts it to mine ear,
There's not a murmur through the trees,
But that soft tone I hear.
It twines round me its blessed spell,
To lead tno where thou art—
To follow where the angels dwell,
This music of my heart;
To where my soul shall yet rejoice,
In concert with that buried voice-
A SEA STORM.
BY T. S. FAY.
A tornado at sea ! It struck us in the after- i
noun abruptly as we were speeding on bicki- I
!v with all our sails close reefed, through al
warm but. gloomy rain, at nine note. We •
i wore on the edge of the Gulf Stream, and took :
I she full benefit of what the sailors called the !
butt-end of a north-wester. The rise of this j
whirlwind was instantaneous. It had been ;
blowing pretty stiff all day, when suddenly I
saw the fore and main top-sail carried away, '
; and a wave burst into the round-house and
rolled backward, there leaving us all nearly
knee-deep in water. In an instant the wind
was—not blowing—but bursting over the ves
sel in a rapid series of explosions, each one
like water forced violently from the spout of
an engine. The sea und air were foam to
the top.mast. The ship lying over low, her I
gunwale under water, her deck scattered with
pieces of broken bulwarks and great fragments
of sail, ropes, spars, and entire blocks flying
off and up upon the gale. The sounds exceed
ed all I had ever imagined; a mingled and
fierce crash; thunder, whirl and tumult al
most b yond conception. Tho masts bent
lik<*M illow wands.—'The noises resembled
those of some tremendous conflagration, the
ro.irof broad flames and the crash of beams,
roofo, walls and timber. There is, indeed, a |
! similitude between the extreme fury of fire and
water v hen those elements attain mastery.
Above uni heads sail, blocksand cables loos- ;
I ened and rent, were hurled up and down again
i upon the roof of the lound.liouse. It is not i
! possible for one unacquainted with the sea to ,
> conceive fully the phenomena of such a scene. !
■ 'The wind is there anew and appalling power,
or rather a fiend omnipotent and infernal. It
breaks in volumes and audible billows over
\our head; producing sounds which seem like
the co. ilict of unseen demons in the air. Each
separate part of the rigging in motion, the huge
fubnek strained to its utmost tension; ropes,
waves, sails, spars, cables, chains, bfoci*;
doors, beams instinct with the phrensy of na- '
ture. We were deafened with tho slamming,
banging, crackling, crashing, snapping, split- ;
ting, flouting, roaring, thundering. It seemed}
impossible that such fearful noises could be
produced except from the crushing tv pieces 1
of planks and timber. Each moment as turn- '
ed my eves from the masts I thought I heard
them go, and could scarcely credit my sight j
that they were not vet gone. The prominent i
feature of this hour is the noise. In addition '
to the full thunder of the sea and wind, a thou
sand whips cracking, a thousand masts break- ;
ing, a thousand doors banging, a thousand
planks splitting—all together—al! with the
most incessant, phiensied. intense violence and
rapidity. It was a madness, tt delirium of the
elements, a paroxysm,’ an ccstacy ot rage and
ruin.
If the surrounding scene was appalling, its
horrors were not decreased by that more near
us. The round-house continued to be swept
by the deep surges which rolled to and fro a
crossthe floor. We had in vain endeavored
to persuade the Indies to go below. Every
heart quailed before the gigantic madness < f
nature. Most of the females abandoned hope
utterly. One was terrified to a calmness that
made me shudder. Poor Sophie was some
times on her knets tn prayer and sometimes
in actual convulsions. Cries of “Oh heavens!
what’s gone now? There go the masts. Is
there any hope ?” were all that was said. Os
us gentlemen, 1 can only say we were all de
cently still and most thoroughly frightened.
It was terrible to behold the sailors aloft on
the yard endeavoring to furl the fragments of
a sad,th« mast bent frightfully, and each mo
ment I looked to see the men whirled off vpon
the air. After raging for two hours, the tor
nado subsided to such a gale as would have of
itself alarmed us nt any other time. I went
into the cabin. Everything was overturned,
broken, drenched, desolate. Tired, sleepy,
stejj, hungry; my head aches, tnv eyeballs
burn; I am beaten out and exhausted. Ah
people ashore, how faintly you feet your bless
ings!—Mirror,
Civility, —-Civility is the consequence of n
good education, ami the true mark of a po'iie
parentage. It has the property of attracting
Vol. V—Ao.
a- the good opinion of people at a little expense*
i, and even brutality yields to fits power. It
j costs nothing and often procures the greatest
. advantage.—lt is certain, that civility hasex
. traordinary effects for it forces men Io be hon,
j est, makes avarice ashamed of Jlscff. softe> S
. the savage heart, and keeps the clown at a dis.
. tance. To a great prince it is an invaluable
. diamond in his crown; among the vulgar, it is
f a wonder, if ever found. It is a great recoru,
mendation to a literary man, and often pro
cures more honor thereby than for his literary
abilities.
OREGON
* * A year’s residence at the mouth of
the Columbia gave the Astonans some idea
of the country. The whyle coast is describ,
ed as remarkably rugged and mountainous ;
with dense forests of hemlock, spruce, white
and red cedar, cotton wood, white oak. and
swamp ash, willow, and a few walnut. Tfiero
is likewise an undergrowth of aromatic shrubs,
creepers, and clambering vines, Ihat render
the forest almost impenetrable; together with
berries of various kinds, such as gooseberries,
strawb rries, rasoberics, both red and yellow
very large and finely flavored, whortleberries
cranberries, serviceberries, currants, sloes, and
wild and choke cherries.
Among the flowering vines is ene deserving
of particular notice. Each flower is compos
ed ofsix leaves or petals, about three inches in
length, of a beautiful crimson, the inside spot,
ted with white. Its leaves, of a fine green,
are oval and disposed in threes. This plant
clitnbs upon the trees without attaching itself
to them; when it has reached the topmost
brances, it decends prependicularly, and as
it continues to grow, extends from tree to tree,
until its various stalks interlace the grove iikt»
the rigging of a ship. The stems or trunks
of this vine are altogether more flexible than
the willow and are from fifty to one hundred
fathoms in length. From the fibres, the Indi
; ans manufacture baskets of such close texture
as to hold water.
j The principal quadrupeds that had been
: seen by the colonists in their various, expedi
' tions, were the stag, fallow deer, hart, black,
I and grizzly bear, antelope, ahsahfa or bighorn,
I sea and river otter, muskrat, fox, wolf, and
panther, the latter extremely rare. The only
i domestic animals among the natives were hor
! ses ai kI dogs.
! The country abounded with aquatic and
I kind birds, such as swans, wild geese, brant,
1 ducks of almost eveiy description, pelicans,
! herons, gulls, snipes, curlews, eagles, vultures,
; crows, ravens, magpies, woodpeckers, pigeons,
pheasants, partridges, grouse, and a great vu,
riety of singing birds.
Ther; were few reptiles; the only danger,
ous kind was the rattlesnake, and one striped
I with black, yellow, and white, about four feet
long. Among the lizard kind was one about
' nine or ten inches in length, exclusive of the
tail, and three inchesin circumference. The
tail was round, and of the same length as the
body. The head was triangular, covered with
small scales, green, yellow, black and blue.
Each foot had five toes, furnished with strong
I nails, probably to aid it in burrowing, as it usu
ally lived under ground i n tho plains.
A remarkable fact, characteristic of the
country west of the Rocky Mountains, is tho
mildness and equability of the climate. That
great mountain harrier seems to divide the
continent into different climates, even in the
same degrees of latitude. The rigorous win
ters, a.id sultry summers, and all the capricious
inequalities of temperature prevalent on the
Atlantic side of the mountains,'are but little
j felt on their western declivities. The coun
i tries between them und the Pacific are blest
with milder and steadier temperalute, resem
bling the climates of parallel latitudes in Eu
rope. In the [Jains and valleys but little snow
, fills throughout the winter, and usually melts
■ while failing. It rarely lies on the ground
■ more than two days ai a time, except on tho
summits of the mountains. 'I he winters aro
rainy rather than cold. The tains for five
months, from the midd'o of October to the
' middle of March, are almost incessant,’and
| often accompanied bv tremendous thunder and
lightning. The winds prevalent at this sea
son are from the south a id south-east, v hich>
usually brings ruin. 'Those from the itoith to.
the south-west are the harbingers ot fair wea
ther and a clear sky. The residue of the year,
from the middle of March to the middle of Oc
tober, an interval of seven months, is serene
and delightful. There is scarcely r..i., through
out this time, yet the face «f the Cwu.dry, is
kept verdant mid fresh by nightly dews, mid.
occasionally by humid fugs in thu munaugs.
'These are not considered prejudicial to heukh,
since both the natives and the whites sleep in
the open air with perfect impunity. While
this equable mid bland temperature prevails
throughout the lower country, the peaks and
ridges of tho vast mmmtains by which it is
denominated, are covered with perpetual snow.
This renders tlmm discernable at a great dis
tance, shining at times like bright suminer'
clouds, nt other tim s assuming the most aerial
tints, and always forming brilliant und striking
features in the vast landscape. The mild
temperature prevaleut throughout the country
is attributed by vomc to the succession of
winds from the Pacific ocean, extending from
latitude twenty degrees to at least fifty degrees
! north. These temper the heat of summer, so
that in the shade no one is incommoded bv
I perspiration ; they also soften the rigors of"
winter, and produce such a moderation in tho
1 climate, that the inhabitants can wear the
same dress throughout the year.
! The soil in the neighborhood of tho a
coast is of a brown to red, unit
: generally poor, being a mixture of clay a id.-
' gravel, l a the interior. and especially in tho
valleys of the Kooky Mountains, the s-fil i-»
‘ generally blackish' though sometimes yellow..
It is frequently mixed with marl and marine
substances, in a state of decomposition. This
kind ofsoil extends to a considerable depth, as,
' may be perceived in the deep cuts made by
! ravines, and by the beds of rivers. The ve
{ getalion in these v dleys is much more abttn
- dant than near the const; it is in these fbrtilu
intervals, locked up between rockv sierras, or
I scooped out Irom barren wastes, that popula
i iioti must extend itself, as it were, i,n veins timl
ramifications, it ever tho regions beyond tlici
mountains should become civilized. — frving*
Astoria.
Size of LnnJ.n.— l am struck with the fact
—-sonv’w hat startling—that London is inertias.
, mg in inng -imde about ns rapidly as NcW ; York
■ its expanding circle, Irom period tn period,
embraces neighboring tillages on every side,
One is at a loss to conjecture w here this will
terminate. The mammoth nretronoljs pre,
sects itself to our minds as something full,
grown—as an oak w hich Ins reached its n» i-
and utmost Jimnusious; q.id whbje