Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

BY JAMES W. J©YES. Tho Southern Whig, I'UItLISUHD EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fust 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 seUeine.nt oftheir accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is net specified, they will be continued until ordered out. All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, must be post paid in order to secure attention Qs* Notice ofthe sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. "Tlia 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 Laud or Ne g.ocs, 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 montiis. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 8 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325 Four Months Notices, 4 00 Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of snr 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 Hime as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, §1 00 per square. BOOK BINDERY, THE subset iber would respectfully inform 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 55 big Office, where work will be executed at the shortest notice in all the various branches of his business. Blank Books made of all Sizes and Ruled to any given i pat tern. J. C. F. CLARK. Athens, Sept. 23, —21—ts "stow JSV. JONES, is now receiving and open . ing at his Store, his supplies of FALL &, WUtfTZH G-GODS, ■which combind with bis former Stock, render liis assortment very complete. English Straw Scsuiots. A case ofhandsome English Straw and Florence Bonnets, just received and for sale, by J. SV. JONES. Oct. 14,-24—tf K£GRO SxICSS, 200 pairs Superior Negro Slices for sale bv J. W. JONES. Oct. 14,—21—tf TJpOUR months after date application will be m ide to the Inferior Court of Madison coun ty when siting for ordinary purposes, fur leave to sell the land and negroes belonging to the estate of Benjamin Higginbotham, dec’d of said county. JAMES M, SVARE, Adm’r. Oct. 7—23—4 m. GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY. 11 ERE AS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis • ■ trator of the Estate ofEdward Harrison, .deceased, applies tj 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,—25—6m GEORGIA, CLARK COUNTY. MY? HERE AS, 55 m. Thomas, Sr. Adminisira * * tor of Drury Thomas dec’d. applies for letters of dismission. This is therefore to cite and admonish all, and singular ths 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. G. B. HAYGOOD, n. c c. o. August 5, —14—6 m It OUR MONTIIS after date, application will be made to the Honorable, the Inferior Court ofMadison county, for leave to sell the real Estate of Agnes Lawless, late of said coun ty, deceased. JOHN B ADAIR, Adm’r. Sept. 16—20 months after date, application will be made to the Honorable Inferior Court of Clark county, when sitting for ordinary purpose es, for leave to sell'all the real Estate' of Eliza beth Goodwin, late of said County deceased. THOMAS MOORE, Adm’r. Oct. 28—26—4 m GEORGIA CLARK COUNTY. Edward L. Thomas, Admin ww istrator on the estate of John SV. 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-I 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- - pd. Given uuder my hand this 17th Julv, 1837. G. B. HAYGOOD, n. c. c. o. July 22— 12—6 m, niUniT, From the Louisville Journal. Tin: PARTED YEAR. The parted year hath passed away unto that dreamy land, sVhere ages upon ages sleep, a mighty slumbering band, And, like a blood-stained conqueror grown weary of renown, Hath yielded to the new-born year his sceptre and his crown. flushed now should bo each tone of glee, unquaft 1 the sparkling wine, IVhile Love and Grief bow hand in hand at Memory’s sacred shrine, E’en haughty Pride should humbly bend down from his lofty steep, And from the banquet laughing Mirth should turn aside and weep. Unwearied Thought with solemn brow droops o’er the heart’s deep urn. And traces on its glowing page—“ The Past will ne’er return While Fancy, from her starry flight, returns with mourn ful eye, And, folding up her rain-bow wing, stands meekly pensive by. Hark I die low winds arc sighing now o’er the departed year, And gathering in din. autumn leaves to strew upon his bier, While the tall trees stand leafless round unstirred by summer's breath, Like mourners rest of every hope above the couch ol death. But now the sepulchre of years hath closed its portals o’er The form of the departed year in silence as before, And the New Year with stately tread stalks slowly o’er the earth, Robed in the garments of his state, a monarch from his birth. Could we but lift the mildewed veil o'er buried ages cast, And bring to light the darkened things that slumber with the past, Sad myseries, undreamed of now, one glance would then unfold, And many other m ,urnful things, too mournful to be told. The cold, the dead, the beautiful, e'en now they silent pa.-s, Like floating shadows, one by one, o’er Memory's faithful glass. And Hope and Love start fondly up to greet them as of yore, But something whispers unto each, be still they are no more. Time, ceaseless Time, we know not when tliy wand r ing began, The dreamy past is sealed to us, the future none may scan; We only know that round thy path dark ruins have been hurled, That 'nea’.h thy wing Destruction rears his altars o’er the world. E’en Science from his eagle-height so little can foresee, He silent turns abashed away if we but ask of thee, And if to Eloquence we turn mute is her silver-tongue, As if upon her spirit’s lyre the dews of death were hung. Still onward, onward, thou dost press with slow and measured tread, Peopling with cold and lifeless forms the cities of ths dead, I Throwing around the young and fair the shadow of thy wing, And stealing from each human heart some loved and cherished thing. Yet deep, deep in each thrilling heart one fount remain ed! still, 55’hich hoary Time nor icy Death hath power to touch or chill ; It is the holy fount of love, whose waters hallowed lie, Filled from that everlasting source, the well-spring from on high. 55 r e cannot stay tby foot-steps, Time ! thy flight no hand may bind, Save His whose foot is on the sea, whose voice is in the wind, Yet when the stars from their bright spheres like living flames arc hurled, Thy mighty form will sink beneath the ruins of the world. AMELIA. Mwieos asssl Daimonos. A LEGEND BY KVLWBB. I am English by birih, and inv earlv years went passed in *** **. I had m ith< r bro. ihers nor sisders ; my mother died when I was in the cradle ; aud I found try sole companion, tutor, and playmate in my father. He was a yr unger brother of a nobltfand ancient house; what induced him to (l-rsake his country and his friends, to abjure all society, and to live on a rock is a story in itself, which has nothing to do with mine. z\s ihc Lord liveth, I b -’ive the tale th.it I shall tell you will have sufficient claim on veur atte tion, without calling in the history of an otherto preface its most exquisite details, or to give interest to its most amusing events. I said my father lived on a rock—the whole country round sc. med no.hing but rock! — waste, bleak, bla- k, dreary; trees stunted, lur. bilge blasted ; caver.is, through which some black and wild stream (that never knew star or su..light, but through rare and hideous chasms of the hngesto: cs above it) went dashing acai howling on its blessed covrse ; vast c'ifls, co vered willi eternal snows, where the birds of prey lived, and sent in screams and discord ance, a grateful and meet music to the heavers, which seemed too cold and barren towear even n'ouds upon their wan, gray, comfortless expanse: these made the character of that country w here the spring of my life sickened itself away. 4’he climate which, in the milder parts of ***** relieves the nine months of winter with three months of an abrupt and autumidess summer, never seemed to vary in the gentle and sweet region in w Inch my home was pluCed. Perhaps, fora brief interval, the snow in the valleys melted, ned the streams swe'led, and a blm-. ghastly, unnat.iral kind of vegetation seemed here and there to mix w ilii the rude lichen, or scatter a grim smile over minute particles of the u .iv< rs.fl rock ; but to these witnesses ofthe changing season were the summers of my box hood confine;!. My father was addicted to the sciences—the phvsical sciences—and possessed b it a mode, r.ite share of learning in uuy thing else: he taught me al! he knew ; and the rest of my education, Nature, in a savage and stern guise, instilled iu my heart b\ : silent but deep lessons. She taught my J’eet to b >uud, and my unu t<> “WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT DEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF lIIE ACT IS IHE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. JefeiSOU. ATBEft’S, (BORGIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 27, 1838. smite ; she breathed life into my passions, and >hed darkness over my temper ; she taught me to cling to her, even in her most ragged and unalluring form, and to shrink from all else—from the companionship of man, and the soft smiles of woman, and the shrill voice of childhood and the ties, and hopes, and sociali ties, and objects of human existence, as from a torture ana a curse. Even in that sullen rock, and beneath that tingenial sky, I had luxuries unknown to the palled tastes of cities, or to those who woo delight in an air of odours atid in a land of roses! What were those luxuries? They had a myriad of varieties and shades of enjoyment—they had but a common name. What were those luxuries? ! My father died when I was eighteen : T was transferred to my uncle’s protection, and I re paired to London. I arrived there, gaunt and stern, a giant in limbs and strength, and to the tastes of those about me, a savage in bearing and tn mood. They would have laughed, but I awed them ; they would have altered me, but 1 changed them-, I threw a damp over their e - juyment, and a cloud over their meetings,— Though I said little, though I sat with them, estranged and silent,and passive, they seem 'd to wither beneath my presence. Nobody could live with me and be happy, or at ease ! I felt it, and I hated them that they could not love me. Three years passed—l was of age—l demanded my fortune—and scorning social life, and pining once more for loneliness, I re solved to journey into those unpeopled and fat lands, which if any have pierced, none have returned to describe. So I took my leave of them all, cousin and aunt—ana when I came to my old uncle, who had liked me less than any, I grasped liis hand with so friendly a gripe, that, well I ween, the dainty and nice member was but little inclined to its ordinary functions in future. I commenced my pilgrimage—l pierced the burning sands—l traversed tho vast deserts— I came into tho enormous woods of Africa, wliero human step never trod, nor human voice ever startled the thrilling and intense solemni ty that broods over the great solitudes, as it brooded over chaos before the world was! T’here the primeval nature springs and perish es, undisturbed and unvaried by the convul sions ofthe surroumliiig world; the leaf be comes the tree, lives through its uncounted ages, falls aud moulders, and rots aud vanishes, unwitnessed in its mighty ana mute changes, save by the wandering lion, or the wild ostrich, or that huge serpent —a hundred times more vast than the puny boa that the cold limners of Europe have painted, and whose bones the vain student has preserved as a miracle and marvel. 4’herc, too, as beneath the heavy and dense shade 1 couched in tho scorching noon, I heard the trampling as of an army, and the crush nid fall of the strong tre s, aud beheld through the malted boughs the behemoth pass o;j its t rnblu way, with its eyes burning as a ■on, audits white teeth glistening the rapid j iw, as pillars of spar glitter in a cavern ; the monster to whom only those waters are a home, and who never, since the waters rolled from the Die Jal earth, has been given to human gaze and wonder but my own ! Seasons glided on, but I counted them not; they were not doled to me by the tokens of man, nor made sick to me by the changes of his base life, and the evidence of his sordid labour. Seasons glided on, and my youth ripened into manhood, and manhood grew gray with the firs, frost of age : and then a vague and restless spiiit fi ll upon me, and I said mmy foolish heart,‘l will look upon the countenances of iny race once more !’ I retraced mv steps —I recrossed the wastes — I re entered the cities—l took again the garb of man; fori had been hitherto naked in tho wilderness, and hair had grown over me as a garni nt. 1 repaired to a seaport, and took ship for England. In the vessel there was one man, and only I one, who neither avoided my companionship I nor recoiled at my frown, lie was au idle I and curious being, full of tho frivolities, and egotisms, and importance of them to whom towns are homes, and talk has become a men tal ailment. Lie was one pervading, irritating, offensive ti-suc of little and low thoughts. 4'he onlv meanness lie had not was fear. It was ! impossible to awe, to silence, or to shun him. ■ He sought me for ever ; he was as a blister to I me, winch no force could tear away: my soul ‘ grew fai.-t wh a my eyes met his. He was i to my sight as those creatures which from their ■ verv loathsomeness are fearful as well as des i picable to us. I longed and yearned to stran l gle liitii win u lie adrhessed me ! Often 1 would i h .ve laid my hand on him. and hurled him 'j into the'sea to the sharks, which, lynx es ed ' and eag-ir j .wcd, swam night and day around I our si:in ; but the g zeof many was on us, and I I embed myself, and turned away, and shut ; mv ei es in very sickness ; and v hen I opened | ilr m again, 10l he was by my side, and his I sharp, quick voice grated, in its prying, and I asking, and torturing accents, on my loathing and repugn.:tit ear! One night I was roused ■ firm my sleep by the screams and oaths of | men, and 1 hastened on deck : we had struck I upon a rock. It was a ghastly, but oh Christ! !h iw glorious a sight! .Moonlight still and calm ■ ihe sea sleeping in saphires ; and in the midst i of the silent aud soft repose of all things, three , hundred n:.<! fifty souls were to perish from ihe world! I sat apart, and looked on, and ! aided no’. A voice crept like an adder’s hiss ' upon my car; I turned, and saw my tormentor; i the moonlight fell ou*his face, a: d it grinned ' with the maudlin grin of intoxication, and his I pale blue eye glistened, and ho said,‘We will ; not part even here!’ Bly bhvil ran coldly ' ihrough mv veins, and I would have thrown ' him i: t > th;: ser, which now came fast upon i us ; but the rn ><»:flight was on linn and I did ■ not dare to kill him. But I would not stay to ! perish with the herd, and I threw myself alone j from the vess-.' I and swam towards a rock. I I saw a shark dart after inc, but I shunned him, j and the moment after he had plenty to sate his maw. 1 braid a crash, mingled with a wild burst of anguish, the anguish of three hundred and fifty hearts that a minute after ward were stilled, and I said in my own heart, with a deep joy, ‘His voice is with the rest, I and we have parted !’ I gained ihe shore, and i lay down to sleep. 4he next mor.-iug my eyes opened upon a Im d more beautiful than a Grecian’s dreams. 4'he sun had just risen, and laughed over streams of silver, mid trees bending with gol den and purple fruits, anil the diamond dew sparkled trom a sod covered with flowers, whose fin-test breath was a delight. 4'en thousand birds with aft the huesofa northern rainbow blended in their gioriot s and growing wings, rose f.om turf and lr_o, and loaded the air w uh melody and gladness; tho sea, without a vestige, of ihe past destruction upon its glassy brow, n urninied at my feet ; the heavens with out a id"ipl, aud bathed in a licjnid and radiant lighi, s;ji t diit: bieties a biw-sii’g to my cheek. I rose with a refreshed and light heart; 1 traversed the new home I had found ; I climbed upon a high mountain, and saw that I was on a small island—it had no trace of man --and my heart swelled as I gazed around and cried aloud tn my exultation, ‘I shall be alone again !’ 1 descended the hill : I had not yet reached its foot, when I saw the figure of a man approaching towards me. I looked at him. and my heart misgave me. He drew nearer, and I saw that my despicable persecu tor had escaped the waters, and now stood before me. He came up with a hideous grin and his twinkling eye ; and he flung his arms round me, —I would sooner have felt the slimy folds of the sqrpenl, —and said, with his gra ting and harsh voice, ‘ Ila ! ha ! my friend, we shall b° together still!’ I looked at him, bl!’ I said not a word. There was a great cave, by the shore, and I walked down and entered it, and the man followed me. ‘We shall live so happily here,” said he, ‘ we will never se parate !’ And my lip trembled, and my hand clenched of its own accord. It was now noon, and hunger came upon me; I went forth and killed a deer, and I brought it home and broiled part of it on a fire of fragrant wood ; and the man cat, and crunched, and laughed, and I wished that the bones had choked him ; and he said, when we had done, ‘ 55'e shall have rare cheer here!’ —But I still held my peace- At last he stretched himself in a corner ol the cave and slept. I looked at him, and saw that the slumbei was heavy, and I went out and rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cavern, and took my way to the opposite part of the island ; it was my turn to laugh then ! I found out another cavern; and I wrought a table of wood, and I looked out from the mouth of the cavern and saw the wide seas before me, at.d said ‘ Now I shall be alone !’ When the next day came, I again went out and caught a kid, and brought it in, and pre pared it as before ; but I was not hungered, and could not eat; so I roamed forth, and wander ed over the Island: the sun had nearly set when I returned. I entered the cavern, and sitting on my bed and by my table was that man whom 1 thought I had left buried alive io the other cave. He laughed when he saw me, and laid down the bone he was gnawing. “ Ila! ha!” said he,“ you would have serv ed me a rare trick ; but there was a hole in the cave which you did not see, and I got out to seek you It was not a difficult matter, for the island is so small ; and now we have met, and we will part no more!” I said to the man, “Rise and follow me!” So he rose, and I saw that of ail my food he had left only the bones. “Shall this thing reap and I sow?” thought I, and my heartfelt to me like iron. I ascended a tall cliff: “Look round,” said I, “ you sec that stream which divides ihe isl and : you shall dwell on one side, and I on the other ; but the same spot shall not hold us, nor the same feast supp'y 1” “ That may never be !” quoth tho man ; “for I cannot catch the deer, nor spring upon the mountain kid ; and if you feed me not, I shall starve !” “Are there not fruils.” said I, “and birds that vou may snare, aud fishes which the sea throws up ?” “ But I like them not,” quoth the man, and laughed, “so well as the flesh ot kids and deer!” “Look then,” said I, “look : by that gray stone, upon the opposite side of the stream, 1 will lay a deer or a kid daily, so that you may have the food you covet ; Lut if ever you cross the stream, and come into my kingdom, so sure as the sea murmurs, and the bird flies, L will kill you!” I descended the cliff, and led the man to the side of the stream. “I cannot swim,” said he ; so I took him on my shoulders and crossed the brook, and i tout) 1 him out a cave, and I made him a bed and a table like my own, and left him. When I was on my own side ofihe stream again, I bounded with joy. and lifted up my voice ; “ I shall be alone now,” said I. So two days passed and I was alone. On the third L went after my prey ; the noon was hot and I was wearied when I returned. I entered my cavern, and behold the man lay stretched on my bed. “Ila! ha !” said he, “ here I am : I was so lonely at horns that 1 have come to live with you again !” I frowned on the man with a dark brow, and I said, “ So sure as the sea murmurs, and the bird flies, I will kill ybu 1” I seized him in my arms ; I plucked trim from my bed ; I took him out in the open air; and we stood together on the smooth sand and by the great sea. A fear came suddenly upon me ; 1 was struck by the awe oft!t3 Still Spirit which reigns over solitude. Had a ik.-usaud ““en round us, I would have slain him before them all. I feared now because we were alone m the desert, with sflonce and God ! I relaxed my hold, ‘Swear,’ I said, “never to molest me again ; swear, to preserve unpassed the boundary of our several homes, and I will not kill you!” “ 1 cannot swear,” said the man, “ I would sooner die than foreswear the bless ed human face—even though that face be my enemy’s !” “ At these words my rage returned ; I flash ed the man to the ground, and jl put my foot upon liis breast,.and my hand upon his neck ; and he struggled for a moment —and was di. ad! I was startled: and as I looked upon his face I thought it sec med to revive ; I thought the cold blue eye fixed upon me, and the vile grin returned to the livid mouth, and the h.i ids which in the death.pang had grasped the sa-.d, stretched themselves out to me. So I stamped on the breast again, and I dug a hole in the shore, and I buried the body. “ And now,” said I,“ I am alone at last 1” • And then the sense of loneliness, the vague, vast, comfortless, objectless sense of desolation passed into me. And I shook—shook in every limb of my giant frame, as if I had been a child that trembles in the dark ; ami my hair rose, and my blood crept, and I would not have staid in that spot a moment more it I had (jeen made yung ag:.i i for it. I turned away and fled—tied round tho whole island ; and gnashed my teeth when I came to the sea, and longed to bo cast into some ilimitable desert that I might, fleo o i for ever. At sunset I returned to mv cave—l sal. myself down on one corner of tho bed, and covered my face with my hands—i thought I heard a noise : I raised my eyes, and, as I live, I saw on the other end of the bed the mm whom I had slain and buried. 4'here he sat. six feet from me, and nodded to me, and looked at me with bis waneyi .s and laughed. I rush cd from the cave—l entered a wood—l threw tnyself down—there opposite to me, six t it from my face, was the face of that man 1 And my c.Turrfgc rose, and I spoke, but h ■ ans ver ed not. 1 attempted to seize him. he glided from my grasn aud was still opposite, six feet from mo as before. I flung mvselt o i the ground, anil picsseJ my head to the sod, and would not look up till night came on, and dark ness was over the earth I then rose and re. turned to the cave : I laid down on the bed, and the man lay down by me ; and I frowned, and I tried to seize him as before, but I could not, and I closed my eyes, and the man lay by me. Day passed on day, and it was the same. At board, at bed, at home and abroad, in my up-rising and down sitting, by day and at night, there, by my bed-side, and six feet from me, and no more, was that ghastly thing. Andi said, as I looked upon the beautiful land and still heavens, and then turned to that fearful comrade, “ I shall never be alone again?’’— And the man laughed. At last a ship came, and I hailed it—it took me up, and I thought, as I put my foot on the deck, “I shall escape my tormentor!” As I thought so, I saw him climb the deck too, I strove to push him down into the sea, but m vain ; he was by my side, and he fed and slept with me as before! I came home to my na tive land ! I forced myself into crowds—l went to the feast, and I heard music—and I made thirty men sit with me, and watch by day and by night. So I hid thirty-one compan ions, atid one more social than all the rest. At Inst I said to myself, “ This is a delust°'-i, and a cheat of the external senses, and the thing is not, save in my mind. 1 will consult those skilled in such disorders, and I will be alone again !” I summoned one celebrated in purging from the mind’s eye its Aims and deceits—l bound him by an oath to secrecy—and I told him my tale. He was a bold man and a learned, and he promised me relief and release. “Where is the figure now,” said he, smi ling ; “ I see it not.” And I answered,“lt is six feet from us!” “I see it not,” said he again : and if it were real, my senses would not receive the image less palpably than yours.” And he spoke to me as schoolmen speak. I did not argue or reply, but I ordered my servants to prepare a room, and to cover the floor with a thick layer of sand. When it was done, I bade the Leech follow me into the room, and I barred the door. “Where is the figure now?” repeated he,and I answered, “ Six feet from us as before !” And the Leech smiled. “ Look on the floor,” said I. and I pointed to the spot; “ what see you?”—And the Leech shuddered, and clang to me that he might not fall. “ That sand,” said he, “ was smooth when he entered, and now I see on that spot the print of human feet!” And I laughed, and dragged my living com panion on : “See,” said I, “ where we move what follows us!” The Leech gasped for breath ; “ the print,” said he, “ of those human feet!” “ Can you not minister to me then ?” cried I, in a sudden fierce agony : “and must I ne- i ver be alone again ?” And I saw the feet of tho dead thing trace one word upon tho sand ; and the word was —NEVER. From “‘lncidents of Travel,” by an American. ' THE RUINS OF ANCIENT SAMARIA. Leaving the valley, we turned up to the right, and, crossing among the mountains, in two hours came in sight of the ruins of Sebas te, the qncient Samaria, standing upon a sin gularly bold and insulated mountain, crowned with ruins. The capital of the ten tribes of- Israel, where Ahab built his palace of ivory ; where, in the days of Jereboam, her citizens sat in the lap of luxury, saying to their masters, “come and let us drink,” destroyed by the As syrians, but rebuilt and restored to more than its original splendor by Herod, now lies in the state foretold by the prophet Amos; “her in habitants and their posterity are taken away.” The ancient Sumarians are all gone, and around the ruins oftheir palaces and temples are gathered the miserable huts of ’he Arab Fellahs. Climbing up the precipitous ascent of the hill, we came to the ruins of a church, or tower, or something else, built by our old I friend the Lady Helena, and seen to great ad vantage from the valley below. The L idy Helena, however, did not put together all this stone and mortar for the picturesque alone ; it was erected over, and in honor of, the prison where John the Baptist was beheaded, and his grave. I knew that this spot was guarded j with jealous care by the Arabs, and that none j but Mussulmen were permitted to see it; but j this did not prevent my asking admission ; and when the lame shiek said that none could enter without a special order from the pa~ha, Paul ra ted him soundly for thinking we would be such fools as to coins without one : and, handing him our travelling firman, the shiek kissed the seal, and, utterly unable to determine for him t self whether the order was to furnish me with horses cr admit me to mosques, said he knew he was bound to obey that seal, and do what ever the bearer told him, and hobbled off to get the key. Leaving our shoes at the door, in one cor ner of the enclosure, we entered a small mosque with white washed walls, hung with ostrich eggs, clean mats for the praying Mussulmen a sort of pulpit, and the usual recess of the Kebal. In the centre of the stone floor was a hole opening to thu prison below, and, going outside and descending a flight of steps, we came to the prison chandler, about eight paces square; the door, now broken and leaning against the wall, like the doors in tho sepal chres of the kings at Jerusalem, was a slab cut from the solid stone, and turning on a pivot. On the opposite side were three small holes, opening to another chamber, which was the tomb of the Baptist. 1 looked in, but all was dark ; the Mussulmen told me that the body only was there; that the prophet was behead ed at the request of the wife of a king, and I forget where he said the head was. This may be the prison where the great forerunner ol the Lord was beheaded ; at least no man can say that it was not ; and leaving it with the disposition to believe, I ascended to the ruined palace of Herod his persecutor and murderer. Thirty orfortv columns were still standing the monuments of the departed great ness of its former tenant. On one side, towards the northeast, where are the ruins of a gate, there is a double range of lonic columns. I counted more thm sixty, and from the frag merits I was constantly meeting, it would seem as if a double colonnade had extended all around. Ihe palace of Herod stands on a table st* land on the very summit of the hill, overlook ing every part of the surrounding country; and such was the exceeding softness and beauty of (he scone, even under the wilderness and waste of Arab cultivation, that the city seamed smiling in the midst of her desolation. All around was a beautiful valley, watered by rmring streams, and covered bv a rich carpet ol grass, sprinkled with wild flowers of every hue, and beyond, stretched like an open book before me, a boundary of fruitful mottn- tnins, the vino and the olive rising in terraces to their very summits; there, day after day, the haughty Herod had sat in his royal palace : and looking out upon ail these beauties, bis heart had become hardened with prosperity ; here, among these still towering columns, the proud monarch had made a supper “to his lords, and high captains, and chief estates of Galilee;” here the daughter of Herodias, Herod’s brother’s wife, “danced before him, and the proud king promised with an oath to give her whatever she should ask, even to the half of his kingdom.” And while the feast and dance went on the “head of John the Bap tist was brought in a charger and given to the damsel.” And Herod has gone, and Herodias, Herod’s brother’s wife, has gone, and “the lords and the high captains, and the chief es tates of Gaflilee” are gone; but the ruins of the palace in which thev feasted are still here : the mountainsand valleys which beheld their revels are here ; and oh, what a comment upon the vanity of worldy greatness, a fellah was turning his plough around one of the columns. I was sitting on a broken capital under a fig tree bv its side, and. I asked him what were the ruins that we saw ; and while his oxen were quietly cropping the grass that grew among the fragments oi'ihe mable floor, he told me that they were the ruins of the palace of a king—he believed of the Christians; and while pilgrims from every quarter of the world turn aside trom their path to do homage in the prison of his beheaded victim, the Arab who was driving his plough among the columns of his palace knew not the name of the haughty Herod. Even at this distance of time I look back with a feeling of uncommon interest upon my ramble among those ruins, talking with the Arab ploughman of the king who built it, lean ing against a column that perhaps had often supported the kaughtiy Herod, and looking out from this scene of desolation and ruin upon the most beautiful country in the Holy Land. THE BETRAYED YOUTH. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. A few years ago, a rich green bleecher in the north of Ireland had been frequently rob bed at night to a very considerable amount, notwithstanding the utmost vigilance of pro prietor and his servants to protect it; and without the slightest clue being furnished lor the detection of the robber. Effectually and repeatedly baffled by the in genuity of the thief or thieves, the proprietor at length offered a reward of .£IOO for the apprehension of any person or persons detec ted robbing the green. A few days after this proclamation, the master was at midnight roused from his bud by the alarm of a faithful servant, “there was somebody with a lanthern crossing the green.” The master started from his bed, fled to the window—it was so—he hurried ou his clothes armedjhimself with.pistols ; the servant flew t for his loaded musket, and they cautiously follow ed the light. Tho person with the lanthern (a man) was as they approached, on tip-toe, distinctly seen groping on the ground ; he was seen lifting and tumbling the linen. The ser vant fired, and the robber fall. The naan and master now proceeded to examine the spot. The robber was dead : he was recognized to be a youth about nineteen, who resided a few fields off. The linen was cut cross; bundles of it were tied up ; and upon searching and examining farther, the servant, in the presence of his master, picked up a penknife, with tho name of the unhappy youth engraved upon the handle. The evidence was conclusive, for in the morning (lie lanthern was acknowledged by the afflicted and implicated father of the boy to be his lanthern. Defence was dumb. The faithful servant received the hundred pounds rewa rd, and was besides promoted to be the confidential overseer of the establish ment. This faithful servant, this confidential over- ' seer, was shortly after proved to have been himself the thief, and was hanged at Dunkaid for the muider of the youth whom he had cruelly betrayed. It appeared upon the clearest evidence, and by the dying confession and description »f the wretch himself, that all this circumstantial evi denee was preconcerted by him, not only to screen himself from the imputation of former robberies, but to get the hundred pounds re ward. The dupe, the victim he chose for this dia bolical purpose, was artless, affectionate, and obliging.—'i’he noy had a favorite knife, pen- I knife, with his name engraved upon its handle, i The first act of this fiend was to coax him to ! give him that knife as a keepsake. On the ; evening of the fatal day, the miscreant prepar ed the bleach-rreen, the theatre of this rnelan- i choly tragedy, tor his performance’ lie 1072 , the linen from the pegs in some places, he cut ■ it across in others ; he turned it up in heaps, he ; tied it up in bundles, as if ready to be removed, | and placed the favorite knife, the keepsuke, | in one of the cuts he had himself made. I Matters being thus prepared, he invited the devoted youth to supper, and as the nights were dark, he told him to bring the lanthern to light him home. At supper, or after, he art fully turned the conversation upon the favorite knife, which he eff cted with great concern to miss and pretended that the last recollection he had of it was using it in a particular spot of the bleach-green, described that spot to the obli ging boy, and begged him to see if it was there. He lit the lanthern which he had been desired to bring with him to light him home, ami with alacrity proceeded upon his fatal er rand. As soon ns the monster saw his victim was completely in a snare, he gave the alarm, and tho melancholy crime described was ihe re suit, Could there have been possibly a stronger case of circumstantial evidence than this ? I’he young man seemed actually caught in the fact. T’here was the knife with his name on it; (he linen cut, tied up in bundles, and the lanthern acknowledged by his father. The time, past midnight. The master him self present, a man ofthe fairest clWfracter, the servant, of unblemished reputation. A RECEIPT FOR BREWING A TRA GEDY. “Guns, trumpets, blunderbusses, drums, and thunder.” Pon. Find a rascal (no difficult thing in this pro lific age) give him a blood-stained dagger, and a tolerable head-piece, and throw him into a company i f a discreet young gentleman, who admires his romantic qualities.—Hatch a good sized iniquity, and spin a page or so of sentiment to salve it over. Pick out an ac cominoil itmg friend, who will second the villatiies of the hero from a principle of the purest affection. Introduce him on the stage, Vol. V--Ao. 355« with his eyes raised to heaven, and hia hand, in his breeches pocket, intiinuiing, tlH.Teby bis scorn fur pecuniary sacrifices. Gefl a pair of scab s, and weigh your principal interview in .them, viz: between friend and friend and his mistress. Let them balance well, aid .ihoiten whichever weighs heaviest in tbs scale. The first three act, may be taken up in rigmarole speeches, spiced morality, and sentiment cut and dried for the occasion ; but in act the fifth let the scene boa prison, no matter where—time, no matter what, with the moo flight piering through be dungeon grate. N. B. Nothing can be done without a moon, notwithstanding the statute against lunacy. To proceed : let the hero ho shown pacing with a tragical puce across the paved floor of Ims prison ; but, for heaven’s sake, do not for. get to let the chains clank now and then, or the audience will not ui deistai.d the plot. — I hen let a sneer at orthodox sentiment geutly curve his nose, and his spirit pour forth a decent modicum of sigfis. But, hark? the clock sounds twelve. N. B. Let it be a very sulky clock, and it wili afford food for mental apostrophe. Dungeon door op'Uis on its rusty hinges (the hinges must always ba rusty,) mid the mistress of the hero turns in to him like Mr. Coleridge’s Christabelle, “with three paces and a stride.” Let herby all means faint in bis arms, audit will save a great deal of valuable conversation, which may be transferred to your next farce. Let her gradually recover, and acquaint the audience (at least al! those who are awake) that she has come to die with h r lover. Dun Manuel Griflgruffiuo. Let them both have a snug touch at the moon. “O thou sweet moon!” or at each other— ‘ O thou sweet When they have finished, it would by advisable that the clock should strike, with all due deco, rum, and the turnkey enter with the keys. La dy scrcams-gentlema swears, hinges creuk, and the orchestra strikes up a chorus. Let the next scene change to a gallows—gong bells sound—muffled drums roll. E.itor Jack Ketch with a song: this will have an electrical effect. Let the hero move majestically through the throng, followed by his mistress, with dishevelled hair or a wig, whichever is most convenient. Ano’her pathetic farewell. Hero stations himself on the sci fluid—lady shrieks—Jaclc Ketch approaches with The night eap. The don nobly repels the insult, tips the executioner a black eye, and then, with true dramatic dis interestedness, leaves him his breeches as a legacy. Exeunt omnes. Curtain drops, and Don Manuel Griffgruffiuo comes like a resur. rec’ion-man to announce the repetition of the piece. These are the requisitions of a true tragedy maker ; and by a strict adhera.ice to these regu. latious, with a dignified contempt for all sense, nature, and precedent, immortality, or, what is synonymous with it, a few hundred guineas, will be obtained; and the author will takeout a patent for a monster, and be shown as such at the west end of the town, untill Ramnb Samee, or the musical clubs, rival him in gou ’ ius and celebrity. From Anecdotes of Duelling, published, re. cently in England.— Two backwoodsmen, iu the vicinity of the Tittibi-Wasse, in Michigan, were hunting in the woods, and found a cow that doubtless had strayed from some unfor tunate settler. The rival claims to the beast produced a quarrel, and the friends of the par ties worked it up to a preity big chuck of a fight. They had no weapons but the nfle and the hunting-knife—but to make the affair per- Cecily honorable, it was agreed that the com. 1 batauts should be placed over night in a cou- I pie of newly built log houses oructcd 'within | half range of each other. Plenty of uininuni ) tion was to be supplied, but the tiriug was not >to commence before sunrise audio cease after ’ sundown. The rival cow-claimers were at i liberty to storm each other’s hut, or to remain 'ensconced behind the openings, for the mu 1 ; had not been applied to the crevicss, but all animosity was to c< ase with the daylight; if either of them received a wound, the other was to be considered the belter man, and to piave the undoubted ownership of the cow. I if neither were hurt, the animal was to be sold, i and the proceeds divided between the com batants,- deducting the expeses of a grnernl treat. The winner of the toss for first choica ! of shanties selected the taiilJing in tho north. | eastern corner of the 101, leaving the autago. • nisttofix himself in the other, which occuj>i<>d I the* south-western. His friends rated him soundly for the apparent silliness of his choice, aud declared that he would have the sun iu his 1 eyes for the longest part of ihe day. The : backwoodsmen took their place; our friend of ' tho first choice bnnicuded the door of his hut. and throwing himself on the floor, slept sound- Ily through ti.e night. At day-break his an tagnnist began to blaze away nt every likely crack er available chink, but was not f-ivor>:j with a shot in return. He was afriid to ven ture on storming his enemy’s entrenchment, lest he should be pick ■<! off when out of shel. ter. 4’tie sun was rapidly descending in th.» I wtwteru sky, when the baokwomlhman, who ! had hitherto been siled, cautiously raised his ■ hi ad from the protection cf the bottom log, nnd made an obsi nation. As he had cunringlv anticipated, the sun um completely behind | his antagonist’s hut and shining thmrtph the I crevices of both the walls, developed the inte ' rior to his gaze. Ho saw the shadow of his rival’s body iu the western side of the but—tho tirst shot took effect—and ho won the victory and tho cow, THE HORSE. ! In my opinion, the horse is the most noble : of all animals, and, I am sorry tossy, the most I ill used at least m England, for I do not recol [ lect a single instance of having seen a horse ill treated on the continent. In fact, you hardly cvei see a horse on the continent that is ootia good working condition ; you never meet tho miserable, lame, Wind, and worn-out animals that you do in England, which stumblealo g with their loads behind them til) they stumble into their graves Ifjs.iy one would take tho trouble to make friends with their horses, he would be astonished at tho intelligence and affi ctioa of this noble animal ; but wc leave him to our grooms, who prefer to use force to kindness. At the s ime time, I have observed, even in colts, verv d'ff rent dispositions, some are much more fond and good-tempered than others : but let them be what they will as colts, they are soon spoiled by the cruelty and want ot judgment of those who have charge of them in she stable. 4'he sympathy between 'ths Arab and his horse is w. h known. The horse will li« down in the tent, ai d the children hsve no (car of receiving a kick; on ,tbq contrary.they m’t iipo.l hint a-.d witli him. S i h ijs the L-east