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BY JAMES W. JOAES. * The Southern Whig, PUULISiIED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TEIt.US. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the lil st number, or four dollars if not paid within the year. Sub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, -» unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, oftheir Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when tho number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. All Le tters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, «- must be post paid in order to secure attention (fZr Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty day® previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. » Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne g.oos, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, six months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. § 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325 Four Months Notices, 4 00 Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales ofLand or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of sm' ,11 type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, $1 00 per square. BOOK BJNUEBY, . ■ StWJES i V J FTIHE subscriber would respectfully inform A the Citizens of Athens and the public gen erally, that he has established himself in the third Story of Mr. Teney’s Book Store, imme diately over the Southern M big Office, where work will be executed at the shortest notice in nll-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—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 | Bonnets, just received and for sale, bv J. W. JONES. Oct. 14,-24—tf NEGRO SHOES, 200 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale bv I J. W. JONES. Oct. 14,—21—tf Tj’OUR months alter date application will be tn ide to the Inferior Court of Madison conn- ' ty when siting for ordinary purposes, for leave ' to sell the land and negroes belonging to the estate of Benjamin Higginbotham, dec’ll of said county. JAMES M, WARE, Adm’r. Oat. 7—23—4 m. MONTHS after date, application will . be made to the Honorable, the Inferior 1 Court ofMadison county, for leave to sell the real Estate of Agnes Lawless, late ofsaid coun ty, deceased. JOHN B ADAIR, Adm’r. Sept. IS—2o— after date, application will bo ' made to the Honorable Inferior Court of 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