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BY JAMES AV. JONES.
The Southern Whig,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
TERMS.
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No subscription received for less than one year,
unless the money is paid in advance; and no
paper will be discontinued until all arrear
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must be post paid in order to secure attention
$3- Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by
Administrators, Executors, or Guardians,
must be published sixty days previous to the
day of sale.
Tlio 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
es Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne
groes, must be published four months.
Notice that Application will be made for Letters
of administration, must be published thirty
bays and Letters of Dismission, six months.
For Advertising —Letters of Citation. S 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 56
Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents
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gg—W W J ■■ "_ w
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open-
. ing at his Store, his supplies of
PALL WIBJTSS G-QGISS,
which coinbind with his former Stock, render
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Sonnets.
A case ofhandsome English Straw and Florence
Bonnets, just received and for sale, by
J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,-24—if
200 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale by
1 J. W. JONES.
Oct. 11,—21—tf
STABX3S.
jMpft
FIMIE Undersigned has just opened a LIVE
RY STABLE in the Town of Athens,
immediately in the rear of Mr. 11. A. Fraser’s
Store, where he will keep on hand
VEHICLES OF
EVERY BESiCZtiPTIOrf; i
ALSO
bl
I
I
And well broke
H AR N ES S HORSES
T<? Slire.
Persons wishing to travel, can be »ccom:nn
dated with Carriages and Horses nt all times
Ilis Vehicles have notyet arrived, but are ex
pected by the first ofthe Spring. He will also
take on Livery the horses of any one wishing to
place their horses under his charge.
P. M. WELLS.
Jan. 27 39 ts.
GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY.
HERE AS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis
» ■ trntor ofthe Estate ofEtlward Harrison,
.deceased, applies to 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, JACKSON COUNTY.
TV/TARY WAFFORD, of the 245th district,
IvJL tells before me one dark brown Marc,
supposed to be twelve years old, shod all round,
had on a bell, tied on with a hemp rope, a star
in her forehead, and appraised by Elisha Dester
and Moses Wafford to Thirty Dollars.
THOMAS NIBLACK, J. P.
A true extract from theEstrny Book,
v WILLIAM COWAN, Clk.
February 3—4o—tf
months after date, application will be
made to the Honorable Inferior Court of
Walton county, when sitting for ordinary ptir
pcses, for leave to sell tour Negroes, belonging
to the Estate of Jarrett Beall, deceased, a wo
man named Letta and two children,a girl nam
ed Rachael. Sold for the benefit of the heirs
and creditors of said deceased.
ALLENS. BEALL,Ex’r.
Nov. 4,-S7-4nj
Southern Whig
From the New-York Mirror.
FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM.
BY GEORGE F. MOBIUS.
They come !—Be firm —in silence rally,
The spoilers our retreat have found!
Hark I their tramp is in the valley,
And they hem the forest round !
The burthened boughs with pale scouts quiver—
The echoing hills tumultuous ring,’
While, across the eddying river,
Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring !
The blood-hounds darken land and water—
They come—like buffaloes for slaughter I
See their glittering files advancing,
Set upon the free winds dancing
Pennon proud and gaudy plume :
The stranger comes in an evil hour,
In pomp and panoply and power,
To plant a weed where bloomed a flower,
Where sunshine broke to spread a shower,
And e’en «ur manly hearts to cower,
And trample in the tomb I
Right he forgets while strength he feels;
Our life he drains, our land he steals ;
And, when the vanquished Indian kneels,
He spurns him from his sight I
Be set for ever in disgrace,
The glory of the red-man’s race,
If from the foe he turns his face,
To save himselfin flight I
They come! —up and upon them, braves I
Fight for your altars and your graves!
Drive back the stern, invading slaves,
In fight till now victorious I
Like lightning from storm-clouds on high,
The hurling death-wing’d arrows fly,
Andmariads of pale warriors die !
Oh ! never has the sun’s bright eye
Looked from his hill-tops in the sky,
Upon a field so glorious!
They’re gone—again the red-men rally,
With dance and song the woods resound,
The hatchet’s buried in the valley;
No foe profanes our hunting-groand!
The green leaves on the blithe bough quiver,
The verdant hills with song-birds ring,;
While our bark canoes, the river
Skins like the swallows on ths wing.
Mirth pervades the land and water,
Free from famine,sword and slaughter!
**»**♦
Let us, by this gentle river,
Blunt the axe and break the quiver,
While, as leaves upon the spray, ,
Peaceful flow our cares away! ,
Yet, alas! the hour is brief, I
Left for either joy or griof! I
All on earth that we inherit
From the hands ofthe Great Spirit,
Wigwam, hill, plain, lake and field,
To the white man must we yield;
For, hke sun-down on the waves,
Wc are sinking to ourgraves !
I
From thi»wilderness of wo
Like a caravan we go,
Leaving all our groves and streams.
For the far-off land of dreams.
There are prairies, waving high,
Boundless as the sheeted sky,
Where our fathers’ spirits roam,
And the rod man has a home,
Let tradition tell our story
As we fade in cloudless glory,
As we seek the land of rest
Beyond the borders ofthe west,
No eye but ours may look upon —
WE AKE THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN ’
Wenaaat’s Love.
A TALE.
“Oh what was love made for, if’tis not the same,
Thro’ joy and thro’ sorrow, thro’ glory and shame,
I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that heart,
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.
Moore.
Every one must recollect the thrilling and
painful illustrations in the above sentiment, fur
nished iiy the tragical story of Emmett the Irish
patriot, and which has been so thrillingly de
picted by Irving in his story of the “ Broken
Heart,” Nor docs that stand as a solitary in
stance in the history of woman’s affections.—
The every day experience of the observer of
human nature, will teach him, that there is a
fortitude and elasticity in the love of even the
most retired and timid female, that defies mis
fortune and disgrace ; and only burns with a
purer and brighter ray the more darkly the
cloud gathers around its object. It is not
amid the sunshine of prosperity, when the
world smiles brightly upon us, that we can
properly appreciate the unyielding tenacity of
woman’s love. But go to the dark and mis
erable hovel to which misfortune has reduced
some one of its thousand victims; ask its
wretched inmate what he has saved most val
uable, from the wreck of his once princely for
tunc, and ten to one he will point toMiis wife,
the pride of his prosperity, now the solace of
his affliction. And if indeed his heart is ca
pable of appreciating the real worth of such a
treasure, what to him arc all other losses or
reverses, so long as it remains unchanged ?
They pass bv him as the waves ot the sea;
which may toss the frail barque which they
bear onward to its destination ; but which can
never effect the equanimity of its course ; or
disturb the serenity of its inmates.
But to our story. Ellen Munroe was the
only daughter of a wealthy Southern planter,
who had spared no pains or expense in her
education. Possessed of no common share ol
personal beauty, and sole heir of the large es
tate of her father, her hand was sought by a
numerous train of admirals. Left to her un
biased choice by the kind indulgence of a deal
ing parent, she passed by the offers of the weal
thy and distinguished suitors by whom she was |
surrounded, and selected from among the com
panions of her infancy. one whose only re
commendations were unblemished character
and n mind of the first order.
Francis Raymond had been her play-fellow
in infancy, and her constant companion in the
more advanced stages of childhood. As she
spru ig to womanhood, and he found her con
stantlv surrounded by the proud and wealthy
ofih.i land, he first discovered how deeply his
heart was ent'll idled, and his own proud spirit
dictated to him the necessity of withdrawing
from the vicinity of so dangerous un influence.
True love is ever timid ; and when Raymond
contrasted his own sitaation, dependent upon a
precarious profession for a support, with that
of those with w hom he must cuter the list as a
rival hope died within his heart, if indeed it
had ever existed there.
WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” Jejfei'SOn.
£»Thc struggle was long and bitter in his breast,
but pride triumphed ; he could bear to leave her
so long as memory might be permitted to cher
ish her image, as one not loved in vain, he
could live upon the memory of the past; but
to listen to a cold and chilling refusal from her
lips, to have the fondly cherished chimeras of
his boyhood dashed to the ground forever, by
a word from her lips, there was madness in the
thought—he lacked the fortitude to brave it.
He determined to flee the scenes oi his in
fancy forever, and to seek refuge in the wilds
ofTexas, from the maddening memories which
every bush and every tree around him recalled
but too forcibly to mind.
A painful task remained to be performed ;
common courtesy demanded 1 hat he should not
depart without bidding her farewell ; pride
whispered too that it would be too plainly ex
hibiting his weakness to shrink from the part
ing interview. He nerved himself for the task,
and tho evening preceding that fixed for his
departure, he called witi. the intention of bid
ding her a hasty adieu ; contrary to expecta.
tion he found her alone. The cold austerity
of manner which he had determined to as
sume, faded before the kind reception which
he met with, and seating himself beside her,
he for a time forgot the object of his visit.
“ I am glad to find you alone this evening,”
said he at length, as she laid aside the guitar
with which she had been accompanying her
voice in one of his favorite songs.
“ That is a pleasure I should have orjoyed
very often ot late Frank, if I hud have depen
ded on you for company,” replied Ellen.—
“ These long intervals between your visits are
unkind ; surely I have not been so unfortunate
as to offend you.”
“No Ellen,” replied he, “but from what I
witnessed during the last three or four visits
which I made, I should suppose you were not
likely to suffer ennui from want of company.”
There was something of reproach in the hall
playful tone in w hich he uttered these words ;
she was not slow to perceive it.
“Frank” she replied, after looking at him
for a moment in silence, “ when Ellen Munroe
forgets her old friends, it will be tuna to re
proach her with treating her new ones with
that courtesy te which they are entitled. I
had net expected this from you.”
“ I meant not so Ellen,” he hastily remarked,
“ I only intended—but no matter, I have no
reproaches to make, and if I had, they would
be but ill suited to a farewell interview. I
have come to bid you adieu !—and forever.” I
“ Frank, surely you jest” returned she— 1
“ what means this 1 you are angry, and at me;
we must not part thus.” 1
“ I am not angry Ellen” he replied—his as
sumed firmness fast deserting him—“ I have
no cause for anger, not even the slightest, and
believe me Ellen, it would be no light cause
that could excite an angry feeling in my breast
towards you—but we part to night, most pro
bably forever— to-morrow, I depart for Texas.”
She spoke not; yet her look was more elo
quent than words could possibly have been, |
He could not misunderstand it—it told him that
the ties which the long and sunny years of in
fancy had entwined around them, were yet
unsevered, that with her as with him the heart
was unchanged. His vows, his pride, his
fears, all, all were forgotten as he poured forth
the wild tale of his love. That night he re
turned home the accepted suitor of Ellen
Munroe.
Though her father might not entirely have ,
approved of her choice, he loved her too fond- j
ly to thwart her inclinations in a matter so j
momentous to her future happiness, and his j
consent was? freely given to their union. It '
was then late in the fall, and a day was fixed
early in the ensuing spring for their nuptials.
But his day dreams of felicity were destined to
be brief—one month from the period of the
interview related, saw him incarcerated in a i
dungeon, upon a charge of that most henious /
andjearful crime ; wilful and deliberate mur
der! The evidence against him was wholly !
circumstantial, but at the same time so con- !
elusive in its nature, as almost to preclude the '
possibility es his innocence.
The circumstances were these : a quarrel 1
had taken place between himself and Captain |
Henderson efthe army,one ofthe rejected sui- ;
tors of Ellon. The quarrel had been doubtless !
sought by the soldier in a moment of pique on
first learning the success of his rival. A chal
lenge passed, was accepted, and a day assign
ed for the meeting. The evening preceding
the appointed day, Henderson was found mur- ;
dcred by the roadside; at a short distance |
from him was discovered concealed among ;
the leaves a dirk, known by many to bethel
property of Raymond, and which had been |
seen in his possession on the morning ot the i
murder. Raymond was also seen coming ;
from the woods in which the body was found, '
a few hours before its discovery. On ex- ;
amination of the wounds of the murdered man ;
discovered the fact that he had been attacked i
from behind, and showed beyond a doubt that
Raymond’s dirk was the wcapen witli which ;
they had been inflicted. Another circum- j
stance which had no small weight with many, |
was the fact of his making no preparationß for ;
the approaching duel by ‘•practising ’ as it is >
technically termed among duelists. Opposed I
to this overwhelming mass ot circumstantial '
evidence he had nothing to offer, but the clear
est testimony of an unblemished character from i
his earliest infancy up to the moment of his
incarceration.
There was but one opinion as to his guilt, >
all concurred in denouncing him as a cold
blooded and cowardly assassin.
« Whither are you going Ellen ?”said Judge j
Munroe to his daughter, as she passed him in
the hall in the afternoon of the day succeed
ing the murder : “ Wherefore have you your
bonnet and cloak? Surely you are not going
out through this rain?”
“ I am going to see him father,” she replied,
in a voice husky with emotion, but breathing
determined resolution in every tone.
“ My daughter, dearest child, you must think
ofhim no more,” exclaiming the old man buist
iiig into tears anti throwing his arms around
her neck —it was the first time the subject had
been mentioned, and indeed the first lime he
had seen her since the fatal discovery.
“Father,” exclaimed the maiden, in the
same subdued but resolute tone in which she
had first spoken, and facing him with her arms
folded on her breast, “I cannot, 1 dare not
obey you ; I must, 1 will see him.”
“My child, my exclaimed the
old man, frantically, “you know not what you
do—he is a murderer, a cold blooded coward
ly—
“ Father, father.’’ screamed the maiden
“ pause I beseech you—l know all—every
thing, I have heard his guilt proclaimed from
a hundred mouths, and every anathema that
the vile herd have heaped upon his head, hits
but rendered him dearer to this heart. l ather
ATHENS, SEORUIA, KAITRDAI. FEBRUARY 10, 1838.
until now I never knew how much I loved
him.”
until now I never knew how much I loved
him.”
“ Do you then believe him innocent ?” asked
the old man, in a voice vainly struggling for
calmness.”
•Believe it! —father I know it, I would
swear it.’
•‘ Yet Ellen, dearest Ellon,” said her father
imploringly, “every redy believes him guilty
and ”
“ The greater reason why I should not de
sert him,” said Ellen proudly. “No father,
if the f roofs of his guilt were written m let
ters of fire upon my heart, I would cling to
him still. Father fear not that your daughter
will do aught for which you will ever blush ;
but oppose me not 1 beseech you if you would
not drive me mad. I must, I will see him—
he shall know that there is at least one heart
that believes him innocent despite of circum.
stances; and wht< h would cherish him still
if assured ol his guilt.”
The father buried Lis face in his hands, and
sunk upon a chair ; the daughter left the house
accompanied only by her black servant, aud i 1
a few moments wu in .’’e presence ofhim for
whom she thus fearlessly braved the scorn andj
censure of the world.
The interview was brief—an age of thought j
and feeling were crowded into the space of a ;
few short moments. Raymond insisted and |
finally obtained from her a promise that she I
would not gee him again until the trial should
be over. She left the prison with full faith in
his innocence, and in the solitary cell to which
he was consigned, he had tho satisfaction of
knowing that there was at leas’, one heart sa
tisfied es his innocence, aud that heart the one
of all ethers in the mem ry of which he would
wish to have an unblemished name.
At length the day of trial arrived—the court
was crowded to excess, for the excitement had
been unprecedented. The celebrated Colonel
II was engaged for the defence, and
at an early hour the sheriff - proceeded to im
pannel the jury.
The first witness called to the stand testified
to the facts of a challenge having passed be
tween Raymond and ths deceased, and the ar
rangement that had been made for a hostile
meeting.
The seeond testified to the finding ofthe
body and to his meeting with Raymond return
ing from the woods some hours before the
discovery.
This poriion of the testimony had however
but little weight, as it was proved that the
body was warm and bleeding when found, and
could not have been dead more than half an
hour.
The next witness was Dr. Stevens, the sur
geon who examined the body He testified to
the fact of having been with Raymond in his
office in the morning aud having seen in his
possession a dirk of peculiar construction—
that this Same dirk was found concealed near
the murdered man’s corps, with about one inch
ofthe point broken off, whichpozzii tc^rsfound
in one of the wounds; the dirk was here pro
duced and identified by the witness; tho point
which had been taken from the wound corres
ponded exactly with the other part, When
the dirk was produced, the prisoner looked at
it for a moment, and then starting suddenly
from his seat while a flush overspread his pale
features, leaned over the bar and whispered
for a moment in his counsel’s ear.
“You say you know this dirk to be the one
that Dr. Raymond had in his possession on
the morning ofthe murder,” said Cel. 11., af
ter a moments study ; did you take it into your
hands while you were in Mr. Raymond’s of
fice?”
“ I did and examined it attentively,” was the
reply, “ I do not think I can be mistaken.”
“ Did you make any remark relative to car
rying a weapon ofthe kind in your hat, and if
so what was it ?”
“ 1 remarked that it was oftentimes more
convenient to carry a small dirk in that way
than in the breast, and p aced the prisoner’s
diik in my hat to show him the way which I
meant.,’
“ How did it correspond with the length of
your hat ?”
“It was about half an inch shorter than the
crown.”
“Is that your hat you have in your hand?”
“ It is.”
“ Will you have the goodness to see how
this wespnn, which you have i (entitled as the
prisoner’s corresponds with that measure
ment.”
The witness did rs ho was desired, when to
his owr. astonishment, and that ofthe crowded
audience by which the court was thronged, it
proved one inch longer than the hat.
A suffocating murmur of half suppressed
emotion ran through the court room.
“ There is some awful mistake here,” said
the witness, “geullamoii of the jury, I have
n
“ Stop sir,” exclaimed the now deeply ex
cited counsel, rising from his seat with a coun
tenance flushed to the brow, I want you now
to tell this jury whit Mr. Raymond done with
the dirk after you took it out of your hat and
returned it to him.”
“ I recollect distinctly,” replied the witness,
“ he laid it between the leaves ofa large bible,
which lay upon the lower shelf of his book
i case.”
I “ Sheriff, the book, tho book” exclaimed the
I counsel, “ and on your life open it not till it’s
1 produced in court.”
The sheriff left the court and in a few mo
j ments returned, bearing with him a large bible
which was identified by the witness on the
stand, as the one in which he had seen Ray
mond deposite the dirk.
The sheriff was next sworn, and testified
that he had kept the key of Raymond’s office
from the first hour of his arrest, and that no
one but Irimself had ever had access to it, and
that he had found the bib's in the very situation
described by the last Witness.
“Now,gentlemenofthe Jury,”said Col. 11.,
rising, “ it remains to consummate the proof of
my clients innocence, for myself 1 have not
the slightest doubt that the weapon which he.
longed to the prisoner will b« found where he
placed it previously to this unfortunate occur,
rence. Gentlemen examine for yourselves,”
and he handed the book to the foreman. As
the latter raised it upon the desk before him
a dirk dropped from between the loaves, the
very counterpart of the one winch hid baeu
swore to as belonging to the prisoner, in every
other respect but length. It was pl iced i i
the bat and corresponded exactly with the dc»
scription given by Dr. S. A wild and thrill
ing shout arose from tho assembled multitude,
loud above which might be heard the shrill
notesofa femala voice.—lt proceeded from
Ellen Munroe, who was the next moment
clasped in the arms of her now freed lover—
he had been acquitted by acclamation, and
1 i without the ceremony of a vote among die
j jurors.
1 A month after the termination of the (rial a
r deserter when about to suffer for his crime,
confessed that, out of revenge for some fancied
1 indignity which he had once experienced at
the hands of Captain Henderson, lie had com-
■ i mitted the murder for which Raymond had
: I been so nearly convicted. At the day ap
pointed, Eilen and Raymond, were united, but
. I he could not forgive the friends who had so
,; easily deserted him, and in a few weeks, ac
. I companied by bis lovely bride, be departed for
1 i Texas, where those who have been conversant
■ j with the history ofthe recent struggle of that
; infant Republic, have recently met with bis
1 true name, that of Raymond being a fictitious
• I one under which I have chosen to designate
; him in tho sketch. J. W. G.
From the German of Korner.
MORNING SADNESS.
The glances of morning ♦
j With orient crimson already are heralding day;
The sun is adorning
' The green young grove in tho lightning and gold of his
1 rav.
Exhausted with motion,
i The silver stars have set in their billowy bed ;
Through the azure ocean
; Os heaven, ths birds, loose-flying, come in their stead.
This heart of mine,
This languishing heart, which trouble and pain environ,
Doth peak and pine,
A sick little bird cooped up in a cage of iron.
His fellows are scaling g
With carols ofjoy the heights ofthe heavenly.dome,
But ailing and wailing,
The captive droops, forbidden to warble and roam.
Yet often, when sorest
At heart, and sleeping, his head beneath his wings,
He flies through the forest,
(In dreams, alas 1) or rests on a bough and sings—
Sink, sun into shadow,
And drop thy pall on the face of the world, O Night!
O’er mountain and meadow
Once more may the prisoner pursue liis flight.
Dublin University Magazine.
AN INDIAN RENCONTRE.
BY J. T. IRVING.
It was about midnight. The excitement
which had attended the brush with the scou
ting party of Indians had cooled The s«l.
diers were stern and watchful. The idea that
they should escape scot free had entirely
passed away ; but, notwithstanding this sense
of" peril, drowsiness was creeping over them.
Norton had not been seen since the watch
was first appointed. He had not been enga
ged in the skirmish, nor was he at his post.
Vague surmises were offered as to his fate ;
and more than ono gloomy shake of the head
announced fears of the worst, when they were
startled by a cry near the horses.
“Them Ingens are at the animals,” said
Adherbal, starting up and cocking his rifle.
A number of rangers sprang to their feet.
At the same time fierce whoops rose from
several quarters, echoed by a scream of terror
from the horses, and a cloud of savage figures
flitted among the underwood. One of them
vrs stopped in full career, by a bullet from
Adherbal’s rifle. Then followed a crashing of
bushes and stamping of hoofs. A loud yell
from the Indians drove the frightened horses
to madness. They tore up their stakes and
ran, with wild neighs, one against another,
while the Indians pressed on with whoopsand
cries. The horses grew furious. The woods
rang with their wild neighs. They rushed
together in a dense mass, and stood for a mo
ment hesitating as to their course- Adherbal
took advantage of the pause to shout.
‘ They’ve rushed them. Let them that value
their lives take to the trees.”
In good time the advice was given and fol- j
lowed ; for scarcely were the rangers enscon-1
ced. before the herd came galloping on. Their
course was like the rush ot an avalanche.
They leaped the prostrate fields. Their own
neighs aud the yells ofthe pursuers served to
increase their fury, and the ground shook un
der the/ii. They bore down the encampment,
and could be plainly seen in the light. Every
eve blazed ! The streaming breath smoked
from their nostrils ! Every mane was erect !
Their long tails flaunted in the air. and the
white foam frothed around their mouths. In
a moment they plunged through the fire, and
thousands of sparks flew upward. In another
instant the tent was trampled under foot.
Just then Adherbal spoke in aloud clear voice, i
“ Wait till the animals are past, then give it
to the Ingens.”
As the heard vanished, a cloud of savages
followed in their wake, darting from tree to
tree.
“ Pepper their hides ! ” cried the old rrfan.
A dozen yagers flashed, and their reports were
answered by a single scream.
“ One Pawnee the lees,” said he. “Give
them another taste-’’
He had scarcely spoken, when a shower of 1
arrows were discharged by the Indians and
one of the rangers fell forward, pierced
through the breast.
Till then Herrick had been inactive, but tho
full of tho ranger roused him. He started
from Iris post, and his voice rang like a trum
pet through the stillness which followed the
discharge- As he stepped out, Adherbal
caught his arm.
“Keep cool, boy,” said he, “ there’s nothing
hk« calm in Ingen fights.”
Ilia advics was unheeded, for Herrick burst
from him, cutlass in hand, and sprang toward
the enemy.
“ Follow ! follow ! ” shouted hei waving his
; arm to the rangers, who wete advancing with
i \rdem
I A cloud of arrows were discharged, and
l several pierced his clothes; but he kept on
i his course. An Indian sprang at him from be
hind a tree, but Herrick drew a pistol and
shot him dead.
“ Mighty cool,” said Ritton ; “I’ve heard
Norton speak of that young man. When his
blood’s up, he’s a devil incarnate. Theyjsay
’ toe. he bears a charmed life.”
•‘ls that the say 1” cried Adherbal, who
was not untinged with superstition. “I reckon
' it may he true, for I never seed a man go so
clear of arrows.”
The rangers obeyed the call of Herrick.
; Headed by Arden and Santon.they poured on.
An arrow struck the latter in the head, and he
■ i fell dead directly in front of the fire.
, “ On! on ! ” shouted Herrick ; “avenge
' Stanton ! ”
1 It needed only this erv to excite them. The
t young lieutenant was a favorite with al! : and
- their execrations as they rushed by his corpse,
1' showeii tho fierce feelings excited by his fall.
At that momenta pile of dry fuel, collected to
serve for the night, caught fire aud blazed up
like a beacon light, illuminating the dark ai
ches ofthe forest with a red, ghastly glare.
The situation of both parties was revealed.
The bushes were teeming with dark warriors;
the gnini faces and glowing eyes were peer
ing from behind each tree. In a moment the
rangers were among them, with their heavy
cutlasses.
“ That’s a mighty ridiculous way of fight
ing lugens,” said Adherbal, who, with about
8 or 10 hunters,sliil kept the trees. “There's
3 good lives lost. . ■
Though superior in numbers, the Indians
were beginning to gi v e ground, when a single
whoop rose at some distance in the woods. It
was but a solitary voice, but was answered by
a yell of exultation from the Indians. They
rallied, and the new comer, a young warrior,
glaring with p.iin, dashed through the thicket
and grappled ilenick-
“ Thai’s Sharatsck, the Hawk Chief, said
Adhefbal. “If Dsiraad’a charmed life ever
stead him in Mctid, it is now.”
The boiweeu the two was hand to
hand, fool io f— , and breast to breast. It
was a trio! of »treug:hand activity, for each
had seized the armed llatid of his opponent.
Herrick soon found that, in smew, his foe was
his superior ; hut he shrank hot from the
struggle. They pressed each other backward
and forward, at one momeut so closely clench
ed, that their cheekstouched ; the next, they
held each other at full stretch of arm- They
writhed mid panted. At length Herrick stum,
bled and fell, forcing tho Indian with him to
the ground. The savage attempted to ris ’, aud
half succeeded; but Herrick wreathed his
arm around him, and dragged him down,
when a blow was aimed at his head by an
Indian. A sudden motion caused it to miss
and take partial effect upon the shoulder of
Sharatack, whose strugglesit weakened : aud
before it could he repeated, the intruding sav
age was felled by a ranger’s cutlass. During
the scuffle, both antagonists had dropped their
weapons and grasped each other’s throats, till
both were nearly senseless. While thus ex
hausted, an Indian rushed forward and drag
ged the young Hawk Chief from the fray.
Another raised his tomahawk to make a blow
at Herrick, but a rangers weapon checked his
arm. Thus frustrated, the savage turned furi
ously upon his new opponent. The Indian
was a man of great strength. The ranger
was hurled to the ground, and in another in
stant had been fairly sped, had not a bullet
stretched the savage in tho dust.
“ That’s the way to send a ball,” said Ad.
herbal, reloading his rifle. “You sec, Sip, I
didn’t trouble that fellow with unnecessary
pain. I tried dreadful hard to get a shot at the
Y r oung Hawk while he and Herrick were tus
seliug, but I could not without winging Mr.
Ostrand. I’m afraid that Ingen’s pretty near
used him up.”
As he spoke however, Herrick rose slowly
from the earth. The crowd of Indians had
grown so dense, that the rangers were com
pletely hemmed in. There was but little
chance of escape, a:.d they fought witlvthe fury
of despair.
“ Monstrous bad! monstrous bad ! ” mutter,
ed Adherbal, tighteuir.g his belt and palling at
his knife, to slip it from the scabbard. “ I reck,
on wo’ll have to charge among them. Send
them your bullris, then spring out and give
them your b’ades.”
“ Stop ! said a voice at his elbow.
“ Ha ! Norton, see what a fix them rangers
have got into. They would charge and now
they are in a pretty scrape.”
“ Follow me, ail! ” said Norton, without
replying ; “ make no noise.”
With s-vise caution they made a circuit
through the forest, approached the fighting
party, from flic quarter opposite that in which
they had formerly beet, stationed.
“ Now,” stud Norton, “ give a hurrah and
rush them,” The woods rang to their loud
cheer, '
“ Forward ! forward ! ” shouted ho. Hold
vour fire till within six paces, then give them
lead ; and take good aim.”
The rangsrs were equally surprised with the
Indians, at this rei; t rcement. A faint yell of
defiance burst from the savages, but was cut
short by the discharge ®f rifles, which level,
led, each a man.
“Club your gnus, and close,” shouted Ad.
herbal. Upon this charge must ofthe Indians
fled ; but a few were arrested by the trumpet
whoop us Sharat.ick, who reappeared and took
his station foremost in the fight.
“1 thought Herrick had settled that logon, ’
muttered Adherbal. They’ll fight like de
vils, while the Young Hawk heads them. I
think I’ll step out in the bushes and load my
rifle. It’s prudent to settle him without com
ing to close quarters. He fights wouderful. j
Before he had time to reload bis weapon,
the Indians disappeared. '1 he Hawk Chief
tried to rally them, in vain. 111 a few momeuts
not n savage was in sight.
“ Tis useless to follow,” said Norton ; “ It
would only be wasting men, whim we cannot ’
spare.”
His advice was too prudent to be neglected, j
and Arden recalled his rangsrs, who were
starting in pursuit.
From the Examiner.
TliL GRAVE OF BEAUTY.
Oh ! where shall the grave of beauty be ?
Oh, where shall we lay the lovely dead ?
In the hollow halls of the reckless sea ?
In the dismal depths of ocean’s bed ?
Not there, not there ! not beneath the wave ;
Earth’s fairest form hath another grave.
On the mountain’s top lay we the flow'r?
In the stiil depths ofthe forest’s gloom I
By the raised wa'.l, by the lonely tow’r,
Shall we dig fir beauty its lowly tomb ?
Oh, not there ! for a fitter place,
Hath earth for this, in her cold embrace.
Then where shall we lay this precious truth ?
Where shall we place the fairest and best >
In tbe fretted vault ? it is but dust;
Oh, give it some lowlier place of rest,
Where Love long shall dwell and mem’ry keep
The imago of her that doth qu:et sleep.
In her native vale, near her native bow'r
Under the small and fresh springing tree,
Lay ye the fair though the faded flow’r;
And mourn its fate on thy bended knee ;
There bright birds sing and the summer bee ;
There ! there ! shall the grave of beauty be.
From the “Sketches of Western Adventures."
THE TWO JOHNSONS.
Earlv iii th fall of 1793. two boys by the
name of Johnson, the one twelve and the other
Vol. V—No. 41.
oi <e years of ago. were playing on the b>
of Short crt-ck, near the mouth of the Mum
gutn, aud occasionally skipping stories inti? : ■
wat r. At a distance, ihoy saw two rm ,
dress :d like oidinary settlers, in hatsand co.-'
who gridually approached them, and fr<.; >
time to lime tlirew stouis into the water, > .
imitation of the children. At length, win
, wi Lin one hundred yards of the boys, th’ ■
suddenly threw off their masks, and rushi -
r pidly upon them took them prisoners. r l i’
• rov d ’•> be I dia sos the Delaware tri .
T ki g tlr. children lo their arms, they ran ha
tiiy iuio the woods ; and after a rapid march
of about six mill t, they euctmpcd tor fl -
ight. Having kindled a fire, and laying th
rifles and tomahawks agsii.s' a tree, they 1. ■■
down to rest each with a boy in bis aru ■
The children as may bo readily suppo> .
were too much agitated to sbiwp. The cj/l- d
at lengih began to move his limbscautioiure,
and fi 'diisg that the I diati who'heM •+nm r *-
mailed !j||Mks>i’‘'.'p. he gradually disengm l . l •
himself arms, he walked to th<* Ire
which hlMßPirnt low. lie remai ;< d Severn
minutai in su«p--ose of what was to be do
Having stirred the fire, ai d ascortaitied t!
exact position of the suerny s arms, he w
pered softly to his brother to imitate-his cx.-.i
pie, and if possible t’> extricate himself frun
his keeper. The little boy did as his broth - 1
directed. And both stood irresolute aretj o
the fire. At length the oldest, who was ot •
very resolute disposition, proposed that th j
should kill the sleepi - g Indi res, and retur 1
home. The eldsst pointed at o.ie of the g ■
and assured his brother that it he would > ■ '
the trigger of that gun after lie had placed 1
to rest, he Would answer for the other Indi > .
Tile plan was agreed upon. The rifle v. < '
leveled, w th the muzzle resting 01 a log, whi< ii
lay near; and having stationed his little broth r
at the breech, wi h positive orders not to tom
the trigger u..til he gave the word, he tl: i
sciz d tbe tomah iwk, and aciv.a:ic r, d cautious!
to the sleeper.—Such was the agitation of th
- brother however, that he touched tl- ,•
trigger too soon, and the report of his gn .
awaked the other Indian before hi< hi'otb r
was quite prepared. He struck the How, hov •
ever, with firmness, although in the hurry i.t
the act it was done with the blunt pari of th •
hatchet, aud ody stunned his antagonist
Quickly repeating the blow, however,with lb -• 1
edge, he ii dieted a wound upon the 1-
dian’s head, and after repeated strokes left h.: >
lifeless upon the spot.
The other, flight n< d at the rxplosion of
his own gun, h id already taken to his scrapi rs.
at d with much difficulty wa- or rti.kau by h «
brother. Huviijg r.gained the road by which
they had advanced, the eidei fixed his hat up
on a bash to mark thn sp<.t, and by daylight
they regained -heir homes. They found thi-ir
mother in an agony of grief for their loss, ar a
ignorant whether they had been drowned or
taken by tbe Indians. Th ir talk was heard
with astonishment, not u imingled with incredo
lity, and a few ofthe neighbors insisted upon
accompanying them to the spot where so ex
traordinary a rencountre had occurred. Tit ■
place was soo 1 found, and the truth of theb >yu’
s ory placed beyo: d a doubt. The tomahawk
ed Indian lay in bis blood where he had fell,
bit- - the one who had been shot was not to b •
found. Abroad trail of blood, however, er
ubled t’n m t•> <r *ck hi* so and h* was
at le gth overtaken. His under jaw had be i
eiitireiy shot away, a ;d his hands and brent;
w- re entirely covered with clotted bloorl.
Though very much exhausted, hr* still kept hi
pursuers at bay a. d faced them from time t.
time, with an air »>f determined reseflutio”.
Either history appearance, or the apprehen
sion that more were in the neigborhood, ha I
such an eff .ct upon his pursuers, that, notwith
standing their i,umbers yet he was permitted to
escape. Whether he survived or perished ii
the wilderness, could not be ascertained ; but
from the severity of tbe wound the latter sup
position is most probabla.
From ths Sunday Morning Naws.
CHESTERFIELD REVIVED.-NO. 11.
Fe w s- u ds, to the polite ear, are so dis.
pleasing as the veics ofthe profine swearer.
Swearing is an indication not only of bad taste,
but, like volcanic rumblings, tells of the fier\
and dangerous disposition within : there 11
something devilish in it—something discot -
dant with the voice of nature. The wanton
use of oaths is not o ily unseemly, but also a
gross abuse of our mother tongue—as if there
were not decent, inoffensive words enough i 1
our langnageto express all our wants and emo
tions without a draft upon the black vocabulary
of profanity.—l know there are some persons
pretending to respectability and polite inter
course. who not only indulge in oaths, but who
likewise profess the belief that they are some
times necessary and becoming—that there aro
occasions when the intensity ot our feelings
could be expressed in no better way than by a
violent voll 'y ot oaths : but my great prototyp ■.
Chesterfield, never swore, nor approved of the.
practice onauv occasion. Even the most re
tried swearing seu ids bad to me— refined, 1
t, iv. for there is a would-be superior caste o '
i dividuals, u ho, scorning all vices, and indeeck
i’ll virtues practised by those they consider
be- e i’h them in society, aim at a ki id of r
tinc.nent in vices, and deem it Ixith polite and
m nice-t to i nluSfre in them, u hen purged ot’
vulgarity : bv damme, they think damnation i»
neutralised, and think to evade the command
tu '. tbv a par.igoge of the name of Deity.,
But this kind of refinement is fictitious, and at
tend; d withno hi ig really beneficial or enuo
b i gto h mrinity. Swearing, in any style, i*
' a iieaflie.iisin it was tx* part of cur language,
ial! - ;. Ollrpntn.lv.il language was taken
frein tho whisp ring of nature's self—pure,,
haruv' ions. peaTe-iusptring. It is a curious
inquiry to trace th“ origin ot cmivorsaticnftl
oaths, and it is a subject to which I hate de
vottzd some tiin '; nrxl I have become satisfied
1 that ’he true origin cf swearing tn English is
' as f filowa :
j 8< in after tho introduction of Christianity
■ into 1) .gland oio morning in September tire
1 s i 1 r 'se on the p- nple of G astonbury in a
I cl •;i-.l»!nesk\—'he air was pore and bland,
ind < icb beamy pervaded the natuial world
as to prohtC’i a S ibhath stillness, undisturbed
l> in 1, «i his s’lsal, vet fervent adoratren, of
th tun.iificam Giver of al! good. Bat sudden
ly h re wis a slight shade, of a bluish cast,
viiicii grew more and inure dark, until th."
mur‘t g’s charms were shadowed in almost
1 igh hke gloom. Accompanying tho dark
icss. 1 t;i id of strange rumbling, or rather
billow reg, like that of a rampant bull, was
hi :r l, w !uch grew louder and fiercer, as tire
d. < i icr.«u -i. Thick, blue volumes oi*
;•: s -,.r din ivi-ig iu the air—vivid light.
,ii ■/•< I spi effilly the dense clouds—Are
1-al. 'ihmd r.i.'g with the horrid and unnatu.