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BY JAMES W. JONES.
The Southern Whig,
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ATHENS, GEORGIA.
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June 30, 1838—9—ts
NEW TAILOR’S SHOP,
THE undersigned, recently from the City of
New-York, respectfully informs the citi
zens of Athens, and the acjacent country, that
lie has opened a Shop in the House formerly
occupied as an Office by Doct.. Ware, in this
place, near the Slate Bank, where he will be hap
py to execute any orders with which he may
be favored in his line of business. He has had
many years experience in the business, and
■will devote to it his personal attention. His
workmen will also be first rate; and he hopes,
by his assiduous efforts to please, to receive a
share of the patronage of a liberal public.
Cutting of all descriptions, will be done
on the shortest notice, and in the most fashion
“bl'“’le - B. F. CRANE.
Dec. 2,-31—tf
FOUR months after date, I will apply to Jack
son Inf.iCourt,for leave to sell the Real Es
of Leonidas Few, dec’d. fer the benefit of the
heirs rand creditors. . , ,
JN’O. J, M’CULLOCK, Adm’r.
May 12,-2-3m
FOUR months after date, application will
made to the Honorable the Inferior Cour 1
of Clark county, while sitting lor ordinary pur
poses, for leave to sell one-fourth part of lot No.
221, in the 12th District, 3rd Section, Troup
county, Georgia; which lot belongs to the Or
phans of Peter Purvear, dec’d..
‘ JAMES B. DEAVENPORT, Guar’d.
of Peter Puryear, Minor.
Afay 12,—2—4m
FOUR months after date application will be
made to the honorable the Inferior court o
Madison county, setting for ordinary purposes
for leave to sell the real estate of Killis C.
Bridges> des’d.
JAMES SPRATLING, Adm’r
de bonis non.
May. 26 1838—1 4tn.
1,1 OUR months after date, application will i
. be made to the honorable Inferior Court
of Madison county, when sitting for ordinary
purposes, for leave to sell the real estate of Wil
liam Graham, deceased.
ELIZABETH GRAHAM. Ad’m’x.
with the will annexed.
July 7—lo—4m.
FOUR months after date, application will be
made to the honorable Inferior Court of
Madison county, sitting for ordinary purposes,
for leave to sell the real Estate of William Bone,
deceased. WILLIAM BONE, Adm’r.
June 23-8-4 m _
F" OUR months after date, application will be
made to the Honorable Inferior Court, when
Bitting for ordinary pi’n™ B ? B ° f Hnbersbam
county, for leave to sell all the Lands and Ne
groes belonging to the Estate of Benjamin
Vaughan, late of said County deceased,
vaugmiu, i.n H jones> Adm’r.
jULIA VAUGHAN, Adm’rx.
July 28,-13—4m
y 1 ° n -x/i i iff I w. \
T it if Illi vV I'lk -IL 111 IJ 1 ]li
From the Fife Herald.
THE JEWISH CAPTIVES’ LAMENT.
“By the rivers ofßabylon, there we sat down, jYa
we wept, when we remembered Zion.” — Song of the
Captivity.”
Far, far from Judah’s lovely land,
And from our fatherst graves we dwell,
A drooping and dejected band,
Our many sorrows who shall tell ?
Wc think upon those youthful days
When glad wc strayed by Jordan’s stream,
And loved on Zion's towers to gaze,
That sparkled bright in morning’s beam.
But broken down are Zion’s towers,
And laid in dust is Salem’s shrine,
While desolation darkly lowers
Above the fields of Palestine '.
On Carmel’s side the lily ’shines ;
But Carmel’s mount no more we view,
Nor Judah’s Hills and beauteous vines,
Or clustering grapes of purple hue.
Ah! while by Babel’s stream we roam
With grieving heart and weeping eye,
And think upon our early home,
Our silent harps unheeded lie.
Our haughty spoilers call for joy,
And ask us scornfully to sing;
But how can we our harps employ.
Or touch the sweetly-sounding string?
Far from the country of our birth,
Far from the land we highly prize,
How shall we sing a song of mirth
While sorrow dims our weary eyes ?
And sad]we shed the briny tear,
And feel oppression’s iron rod,
Jerusalem is doubly dear,
And dearer still is Israel’s God !
For he can dry the watery eye,
Unbind the afflicted captive’s chain,
And he will hear the mourner’s cry,
And lead his people back again !
THOUGHTS ON SOCIETY.
From Moral Views of Commerce, Society, and
Politics; by Rev. Orville Dewey.
SOCIAL EXCLUSIVENESS.
* * * «>T| iere is a certain distinction,
then; there is a charmed circle, within which
the social exclusiouist entrenches himself, and
that circle is surrounded as with an electric
chain, which sends quick and thrilling sensi
bility through every part. But touch an in
dividual in that society-but mention his name,
and the man or the woman we are speaking
of, feels it instantly; attention is on the alert;
the ear is opened in every word ; I here is the
utmost desire to know or to seem to know,
the individual in question ; there is an eager
ness to talk about him, a lively interest in all
that concernshim. Is he sick oris he well?
—is he in this place, or is he in that place?
—the most ordinary circumstances rise to
great importance, the moment they are con
nee’ed with him. But, now, do you speak of
a person out of that circle —be it of fashion,
or birth, or wealth, or talents, or be it a circle
composed of some of all of these; and sud
denly the social exclusionist has passed
through a total metamorphosis. He says not
a word, perhaps : he settles the matter more
briefly, and at less expense. His manner
speaks. There is an absolute unspeakable
indifference. He knows nothing about persons
ot that class, who, alas ! have nothing in this
world to make them interesting, but their mind
and heart. And if you speak of such an one,
he opens his eyes upon you, as if he scarcely
comprehended what part of the creation you
are talking about. And when he is made, at
length to recognize a thing so unimportant, as
the concerns of the fellow being, held to be in
ferior, you find that he is included with a mul
titude of others, under the summary phrase of
•those people.’ or ‘that sort of peopleand
with such, you would find that he scarcely
more acknowledged the tie of a common na
ture, than with the actually inferior beings of
the animal creation.
“This feeling of selfish and proud exclusion
is confined to no one class. I wish wc could
say, that it is limited to any one grade of char
acler. I wish we could say, that it did not
infect the minds of many persons, other-wise,
of great merit and worth. I wish we could
say, that any one is exempt from it. laving,
growing up, as we all have been, in a selfish
world, educated, more or less, by worldly max
ims, we have none of us perhaps, felt as we
ought, the sacred claim of human nature—let
our minds thrill to its touch, as to an electric
chain—feel ourselves bound with the bands of
holy human sympathy—feel that all human
thought, desire, want, weakness, hope, joy and
o-rief, were our own—ours to commune with
and to partake of. Few have felt this ; for it
is always the attribute of ihe holiest phila-n
thropv, or of the loftiest genius. Os the lofti
est genius, I repeat; fori venture to say, that
all such genius has ever been distinguished for
its earnest sympathy and sacred interest in all
human feeling. And why should we not feel
i’,? The very dog, that goes and lies down and
dies upon the grave of his master, will almost
draw a tear from us, so near docs ho approach
to human affection. And when the war-horse
that has carried his rider through many bat
ties, bows his neck ano thrills through his
whole frame, at the approach and touch ol that
master’s hand, we feel something more than
respect towards the noble animal. Oh 1 sa
cred humanity! how art thou dishonored by
thv children, when the merest appendage of
thy condition, the mere brute companion oi thy
fortunes, is more regarded than thou !
“What a picture does human society preset
to us! If I were to represent the world in
vision, I should say that I see it, not as that
interchange of hill and dale which now spreads
around me, but as one vast mountain ; and ad
the multitude that cover it, are struggling to
rise; and those who, in tn' vision, seem to be
above, instead of holding friendly mtercouse
with those who are below, are endeavoring,
all the while, to look over them, or building
barriers and fences to keep them down; mid
every lower grade is using the same tieatnient
towards those who are beneath them that ih<-y
bitterly and scornfully complain of, in those
who are above ; all hut the topmost circle, imi
tators as well as competitors, injuring as well
as injured; and the topmost circle —with no
more to gain, revelling or sleeping upon ils
perilous heights, or dizzy with its elevation
soon f. |ls from its pinnacle ol pride, giving
place to others, who share in constant succes
sion the same futo, Buch IS the miserable
“where powers are assumed which have not been delegated, a nullification of the act is the rightful remedy.” Jejf'erson.
struggle of social ambition all the world
over.”
divinity of HUMAN nature.
* * * “Your neighbor is above you in the
world’s esteem, perhaps—above you, it max
be, in fact; but what are you? You arc a
man ; you are a rational and religious being ;
you are an immortal creature. Yes, a glad
and glorious existence is yours; your eye is
opened to the lovely and majestic vision of na
ture ; the paths of knowledge aie around you,
and they stretch onward to eternity ; and most
of all, the glory of the infinite God, the all-per
feet, all-wise, all-beautiful, is unfolded to you.
What now, compared with this is a little world
ly eclat ? The treasures of infinity and of
eternity are heaped upon thy laboring thought;
can that thought be deeply occupied with ques
tions of mortal prudence ? It is as if a man
were enriched by some generous benefactor,
almost beyond measure, and should find no
thing else to do, but vex himself and complain,
because another man was made a few thou
sand richer.
“Where, unreasonable complainer! dost
thou stand, and what is around thee? The
world spreads before thee its sublime mysteries
where the thoughts of sages loose themselves
in wonder; the ocean lifts up its eternal an
thems to thine ear ; the golden sun lights thy
path; the wide heavens stretch themselves
above thee, and worlds rise upon worlds, and
systems beyond systems, to infinity ; and dost
thou stand in the centre of all this, to complain
of thy lot and place ? Pupil of that infinite
teaching! minister at Nature’s great altar!
child of heaven’s favor! ennob'.ed being! re
deemed creature ! must thou pine in sullen and
envious melancholy, amidst th<? plenitude of
the whole creation ?
“But thy neighbor is above thee,’ thou say
est. What then ? What is that to thee?
What, though the shout of millions rose around
him? What is that to the million voiced na
ture that God has given theel That shout
dies away into the vacant air ; it is not his ;
but thy nature — thy favoured, sacred and glo
rious nature —is thine. It is the reality—to,
which praise is but a fleeting breath. Thou
canst meditate the things, which applause hut
celebrates. Inth.it thou art a man, thou art
infinitely exalted above what any man can be,
in that he is Raised. 1 had rather be the hum
blest man in the world, than barely be thought ;
greater than the greatest. The beggar is great
er, jas a man, than is the man, merely as a king. I
Not one of the crowds that listened to the el- j
oquence of Demosthenes and Cicero—not one |
who has bent with admiration over the pages )
of Homer or Shakspeare—not one who followed
in the train of Caesar or of Napoleon, would i
part with the humblest power of thought, for
all the fame that is echoing over the woild
and through the ages.”
FREEDOM OF OPINION.
* * * “What barrier is there against
the universal despotism of public opinion in
this country, but individual freedom? Who
is to stand up here, but the possessor of that
lofty independence ? There is no king, no
sultan, no noble, no privileged class ; nobody
else to stand against it. If you yield this
point, if you are for ever making compromises,
if all men do this, if the entire policy of pri
vate life here, is to escape opposition and re
proach, every thing will be swept beneath the
popular wave. Tnere will be no individuali
ty, no hardihood, no high and stern resolve,
no self-subsistence, no fearless dignity, no gio
rious manhood of mind, left among us. The
holy heritage of our fathers’ virtues will be
trodden under foot, by their unworthy children.
They feared not to stand up against kings and
nobles, and parliament and people. Better
did they account it, that their lonely bark
should sweep the wide sea in freedom —hap- •
pier were they, when their sail swelled to the!
storm of winter, than to be slaves in palaces 1
of ease. Sweeter to their ear was the music i
of the gale, that shrieked in their broken cor
dage, than the voice at home that raid ‘submit,
and you shall have rest.’ And when they
reached this wild shore, and built their altar,
and knell upon the frozen snow and flinty rock
to worship, they built that altar to freedom, to j
individual freedoom. to freedom of conscience ,<
and opinion ; and their noble prayer was, that
their children might be thus free. Let their
sons remember the prayer ol *heir extremity,
and the great bequest which their magnani
mity has left us. * * I know of but one
thing safe in the universe, and that is truth.
And I know of but one way to truth for an
individual mind, and that is, unfettered thought.
And I know but one path for the multitude to I
truth, and that is thought, freely expressed.
Make of truth its< If an altar of slavery, and
guard it about with a mysterious shrine ; bind
thought as a victim upon it ; and let the pas
sions of the prejudiced multitude minister fuel;
and you sacrifice upon the accursed altar, the
hopes of the world !
‘■Why is it, in tact, that the tone of morality
in the high places of society, is so lax and
complaisant, but for want of the independent
and indignant rebuke of society? I his is re
proach enough poured upon the darkness,
debauchery and dishonesty of the poor man.
The good people who go to them can speak
plainly—ay, very plainly of his evil ways.
Why‘is it, then,'that fashionable vice is able'
to hold up its head, and sometimes to occupy
the front ranks of society? It is because re
spectable persons, of hesitating and compro
mising virtue, keep it in countenance. It is
because timid woman stretches out her hand
to the man whom she knows to be the deadli
est enemy of morality and of her sex, while
she turns a cold eye upon the victims he has
ruined. It is because there is nobody to speak
plainly in casses like these. And do you think
that society is ever to be regenerated or puri
fied under the influence of these unjust and
pusillanimous compromises ? I tell you never.
So long as vice is suffered to be fashionable
and respectable —so long as men are bold to
condemn i f , only when it is clothed in rags,
there will never be any radical improvement.
You may multiply Temperance Societies, and
Moral Reform Societies; you may pile up
statute books of law against gambling and dis
honesty ; but so long as the timid homages of
the fair and honored are paid to splendid ini
quity, it will be all in vain. So long will it be
felt, that the voice of the world is not against
die sinner, but against the sinner’s garb. And
so long, every weapon of association and every
baton of office, will be but a missile together
against the leviathan, that is wallowing in the
low marshes and stagnant pools of socle
'y-” ‘
From the Old Monthly Magazine.
THE CUP OF POISON.
I Weevil, unfortunate as he was in his jokes,
ATIIOB, GEOfMJA, SATURDAY, SEPTEUBKR 8, 1838.
' was no less so in his more serious attempts;
his whole career was one grand mistake—elop
ing with a sweet youpg lady who was report
ed “tobe a fortune,” lie discovered, too late
ro retract, that she was the dowerless daughter
of an extravagant insolvent. To add to this
disappointment, Mrs. Weevil proved an incor
rigible shrew, whose eloquent tongue annoyed
him unceasingly.
Proud, however, of his boasted tact and abil
ities, Weevil resolved to tame her; and after
pondering for some months upon the subject,
resolved to put in form the following novel and
extraordinary experiment.
Having purchased some white arsenic, upon
the paper of which was duly printed “arsenic
—poison,” he consigned the deleterious min
eral to the flames, and replenished the envelope
with white sugar.—Watching his opportunity
when Mrs. Weevil was in her tantrums, he
calmly proceeded to the closet, and pouring
out a cup of milk, mixed up the sweet potation.
“ Jane,” cried he, in a melancholy tone, stir
ring the potion with the fore finger of his right
hand —“ Jane, listen to me for a few short
moments —I shall not be a burden to you.”
His look and impressive manner silenced the
storm. Quaffing the draught at one gulp he
cast the cup into the grate,and threw the paper
upon the ground.
“ What have you done ?” shrieked Mrs.
Weevil, snatching up tne paper, and turning
pale as Parian marble.
“Poison!” muttered Jesse, with the most
thrilling tragedy look he could assume ; and
clapping bis hands to his face, he buried his
head in the cushions of the sofa.
A shriek, followed by an awful silence,
ensued. Jesse ventured to peep between his
fingers, expecting to see his rib extended on
the hearth rug in a swoon, but she had van
ished.
“ Where the dickens has she gone?” cried
he, rising. “Jane”—no answer. He rested
upon his elbow and listened. A trampling of
many feet upon the stairs aroused him from
his posture : and the next moment bis better
half rushed wildly into the room, followed by
three men and the servant maid.
“My dear Mr. Weevil,” said the foremost
gentleman in black, in whom Jesse recognised
a neighboring apothecary ; “ what could have
compelled you to this rash act? ’
Weevil was really alarmed by the crowd
which he had so unexpectedly brought about
his ears.
‘•What act?” demanded Weevil.
“ You have swallowed poison !”
“ Nonsense—nonsense”—said Weevil.
“ Where is the cup, ma’am?”
“He has thrown it away,” replied Mrs.
Weevil, sobbing aloud; “but here is the hor
rible paper.”
The apothecary looked at the paper, shook
his head, shrugged his shoulders, and then
looked significantly at his assistant, who im
mediately laid violent hands upon the discon
certed Weevil, and threw him at full length
upon the sofa.
“What in the devil are you about?” de
mauded Jesse, glaring wildly upon the medi
cal operator, us he drew a stomach pump from
his coat pocket.
“ You must submit, ar,” said he, “ resistance
will avail you nothing.”
“ Pooh! pooh! nonsense—’pon my soul
’twas only a joke!—a mere ruse—don’t be a
fool,” cried Jesse, struggling. “ May I die
if ”
The forcible introduction of the admirable
machine put an end to further opposition.—
Weevil kicked and plunged in vain. The
whole operation was admirably performed;
and feeb.e, spiritless; and exhausted, the unfor
tunate patient was left extended on the couch.
The apothecary promised to send a compos
ing draught immediately, and left him in the
meanwhile to the tender care of his wife, w ho
alternately wept and scolded ; winding up her
hysterical harangue with a bitter remark upon
his cruelty in wishing to leave her unprovided
for!
From the Knickerbocker for August.
DARKNESS.
Darkness, I love thee '. —when the last faint beam
Os day hath faded from the summer sky,
How sweet to wander by some gentle stream,
While all around Night’s sable shadows lie,
And catch the splashing of a distant oar ;
To hear faint voices borne upon the wind,
And gaze far on, nor view the verdant shore,
That boat, those voices, scarce have left behind I i
Darkness, I love thee !—when the sudden swell ■
Os music bursts on the enraptured ear,
And chains the spirit with a mystic spell.
Like sounds unearthly from some hallowed sphere ;
We turn to look upon a fair young brow,
Shaded wiih sunny tresses 1 on a cheek
Flush’d with deep feeling: and what meets us now?
Sadness, and darkness, for the form we seek!
Darkness, I love thee ! —when the lightning plays
Through cloud-piled masses with a lurid glare,
Flash following flash, in one bright liquid blaze,
While peals of thunder shake the troubled air;
And when, like infant on its mother’s breast,
Who sobs to sleep its gust of passion o’er,
The storm is gone, and winds and waves at rest,
I love thee then as dearly as before 1 i
Darkness, I love thee '. —when the full heart thrills
With untold rapture —power of utterance gone ;
Tearafter tear, the downcast eyelids fills,
Flush after flush con.cs mantling, and alone
With one loved being, with whose destiny
Ours is close link’d —no sight, no sound
Breaks on the stillness; yet we feel an eye
Beams on us, in whose life our own is bound !
Darkness, I love thcc! —when the midnight hour
Tells that thy reign too soon will pass away;
When hearts are bared before that unseen Power,
Too oft forgotten ’mid the lightof day ;
And as the rushing memories come back,
Os days, and hopes, and friends, 1 long
To soar away to you bright star-lit track,
Whose glories, Darkness, round thy pathway throng!
J. C.
A DESER TED CITY.
We take the following description of the
wonderful and long deserted City of Petra from
our countryman Steven’s Travels in the East,
li is in the valley of Edom (of the Israelites,)
near the Dead Sea, and was visited by Mr. 8.
in 1835:
This ancient and extraordinary city is sitva
ted within a natural amphitheatre of two or
three miles iti circumference, encompassed on
all sides by rugged mountains five or six hun
dred feet in height. The whole of this ex
tensive field ot rums, dwelling houses, palaces,
temples, and triumphal arches, nre all prostrate
ogether n’undht ngu shub eco fusion. The
sides of the mountains are cut smooth in a per
pendicular direction, and filled with long and
continued ranges of dwelling houses, temples,
and tombs, excavated with vast labor cut ot the
solid rock ; and while their summits present
Nature in her wildest and most savage form,
their bases are adorned with all the beauty of
architecture and art, with columns, and porti
cos, and pediments and ranges of corridors,
enduring as the mountains out of which they
are hewn, and fresh as if the work of a gen
eration scarcely yet gone by.
Nothing can be finer than the immense rocky
rampart which encloses the city. Strong, firm,
and immoveable as nature itself, it seems to de
ride the walls of cities, and the puny fortifica
tions of skilful engineers. The only access is
by clambering over this wall of stone, practi
cable only in one place, or by an entrance the
most extraordinary that nature, in her wildest
freaks has ever framed. The loftiest portals
ever raised by the hands of man, the proudest
monuments of architectural skill and daring,
sink into insignificance by the comparison.
It is perhaps, the most wonderful object in the
world, except the ruins of the city to which it
forms the entrance. Burkhardt had been ac.
costed, immediately upon his entry, by a large
party of Bedouins, and had been suffered to
remain but a very short time. I expected a
scene of some kind ; but at the entrance of the
city there was not a creature to dispute our
passage; its portals were wide open and we
passed along the stream down into the area,
aid still no man came to oppose us. We mov
ed to the extreme end of the area; and when
in the act of dismounting at the foot of the
rock on which stood the temple that had con
stantly faced us, we saw one solitary Aiab
straggling along without any apparent object,
a mere wanderer among the ruins; and it is
not an uninteresting fact that this poor Be
douin was the only living being we saw in the
desolate city of Petra. After gazing at us for
a few moments from a distance, he came to- !
wards us, and in a few moments was sitting 1
down to pipes and coffee with my companions.
Among the ruins is a circular theatre, cut 1
out of the solid rock, containing 33 rows of 1
scats, and capable of holding 3000 people. 1
Although the front pillars have fallen, yet (he t
whole theatre says Mr. Stevens, is in such a 1
state of preservation I hat “if the tenants ol the ■
tombs around could once more rise into life,
they might take their places on the seats.”
“ Where,” he exclaims, “ are ye, inhabitants
ofthis desolate city? ye, who once sat on the
scats ofthis theatre, the young the high born,
the beautiful and the brave ; who once rejoiced
in your riches and power, and lived as if there
was no grave ! where are ye now 7 Even the
very tombs, whose open doors are stretching
away in long ranges before the eyes of the,
wondering traveller cannot reveal your doom.
Your dry bones are gone. The robber has in
vaded your graves, and your very ashes have
been swept away to make room for the wan
dering Arab of the desert.”
No description without the aid of plates, can
give an edequate conception of the ruins of this
wonderful city. Sufficient mty be gathered
from the preceding account, to convince every
reader, that Petra was once a populous, weal
thy and luxurious city, adorned with temples,
arches and theatres; and that it was fora
thousand years utterly forgotten, and that it
is now destitute of a single inhabitant.
The most interesting and important consid
eration connected with the city is, that its ruin
is a distinct fulfilment of the ancient prophe
cies. Jeremiah, Isaiah, Amos, Joel. Obediah,
and Malachi have announced the desolation of
Edom& some of them in language,which most
graphically describes the situation of Petrat
‘in the clefts of the rocks,’ anti in ‘ the height,
of the hill.’ Mr. Stevens says: ’Amid all the
terrible denunciations against the land of Idu
mea, ‘ her cities and the inhabitants thereof,’
this proud city among the rocks • doubtless for
its extraordinary sins, was always marked as
a subject of extraordinary vengeance. ‘ I have
sworn by myself, saith the Lord, that Bozrah
(the strong or fortified city) shall become a
desolation, a reproach and a waste and a curse,
and all the cities thereof shall be perpetual
waste. Lo, I will make thee small among
the heathen, and dispised among men. Thy
terribleness hath deceived thee, and the pride
of thine heart, O thou that dwellest in the
clefts of the rock, that boldest the height ot
the hill; if thou shouldst make thy nest as high
as the eagle, I will bring thee down from
thence saith the Lord.* ‘They shall call the
nobles thereof to the kingdom, but none shall
be there, and all her princes shall be nothing;
and thorns shall come up in her palaces, net
tiesand brambles in the fortresses thereof, and
it shall be an habitation for dragons, and a court
for owls, ’f
I would that the skeptic could stand as I did,
among the ruins of this city among the rocks,
and there open the sacred book and read the
words of the inspired penmen, written when
this desolate place was one of the greatest
cities in the world.
*Jer. 49: 13, 16. flsniah 34 : 14, 15, 15.
MOUNT SINAI.
* * * * At eight oclock I was break
fasting ; the superior was again at my side;
again offering all that the convent could give,
and urging me to stay a month, a fortnight, a
week, at least to spend that day with him and
repose myself after the fatigue oi my journey ;
but from the door of the little room in which 1
sat I saw the holy mountain, and I longed to
stand on its lofty summit. Though feeble and
far from well I felt the blood of health again
coursing in my veins, aud congratulated my
self that I was not so hackneyed in feeling as
I had once supposed. I found, and I was hap
py to find, for the prospective enjoyment of my
farther journey, that the first tangible menu,
ment in the history of the Bible, the first spot
that could be called the holy ground, raised in
me feelings that had not been awakened by
the most classic ground of Italy and Greece,
ortho proudest monuments of the arts it) Egypt.
* * * * Continuing our ascent the old
monk still leading the way, in about a quarter
of an hour we came to a table of rock standing
boldly out, and running down almost perpen.
dicularly an immense distance to the valley-
I was expecting another monkish legend, and
mv very heart thrilled when the monk told me
that this was the top of the hili on which Moses
had sat during the battle of the Israelites and
Amalekites, while Aaron a d Hur supported
his uplifted hands until the sun went down
upon the victorious army ot his people. From
the height I could see, clearly and distinctly,
everv part of the battle ground, and the whole
vale of Rephidim and the mountain beyond,
I and Moses, while on this spot, must have been
! visible to the contending armies from everv
' part of the field, on which they were engaged.
* * * * { stand upon the very peak of
Sinai— where Moses stood when he talked vv ith
i the Almighty, (’an it be, or is it a more
I Trenin? Can this naked rock have been the
; witness of the great interview between man
and his Maker? where, amid thunder and
lightning, and a fearful quaking ot the moil i
tuin, the Almighty gave to his chosen people
the precious tables of his law, those rules of
infinite wisdom and goodness, which to this
day, best teach man his duty towaids his God,
his neighbor and himself.
The scenes of many of the incidents recorded
in the Bible are extremely uncertain. Histo
rians and geographers place the Gardenol'
Eden, the paradise of our first parents, in dif
ferent parts of Asia: and they do not agree
upon the sight of the Tower of Babel, the
mountain of Ararat, and many of the most in
teresting places in the Holy Land ; but of
Sinai there is no doubt. This is the holy
mountain, and among all the stupendous works
of Nature, not a place can be selected more
fitted for the exhibition of Almighty power.
I have stood upon the summit of the Giant aEt
na, and looked over the clouds floating be
neath it, upon the bold scenery of Sicily, and
the distant mountains of Calabria ; upon the
top of Vesuvius, and looked down upon the
waves of lava, and the ruined and half-recover
ed cities at its foot; but they are nothing com
pared with the terrific solitudes and bleak ma
jesty of Sinai. An observing traveller has
well called it “a perfect sea of desolation.’’
Not a tree, or shrub, or blade of grass is to be
seen upon the bare and rugged sides of innu
merable mo>iintains, heaving their naked sum
mits to the skies, while the crumbling masses
of granite all around, and the distant view of
the Syrian desert, with its boundless waste of
sands, form the wildest and most dreary, the
most terrific and desolate picture that imagin
ation can conceive.
The level surface of the very top, or pinna
cle, is about s.xty feet square. At one end is
a single rock about twenty feet high, whi’e m
the crevice beneath, his favored servant re
ceived the tables of the law. There on the
same spot where they were given, I opened
the sacred book in which those laws are re
corded, and read them with a deeper feeling of
devotion, as if I were standing nearer, uinl>
receiving them more directly frem the Deity
himself.— l 6.
From the Richmond Whig.
TO HENRY CLAY, ESQ.— Letter IX.
Sir—ln the history of‘.he world, there is
perhaps no portion more calculated to engage
the attention of the philosopher, and to damp
the hopes of the friend of liberty, than that
which relates to the affairs of the United
States during the last ten years. To us at this
day, it is full of perplexing mystery. In aftc.
times, many of the hidden springs of action
may be detected, and that which is now a rid
die and a wonder may then seem plain. 1 n
the page of the future historian, it may appear
only as a new example of that game of ambi
tion and interest of craft, dissimulation and
falsehood, which forms the staple of ail past
history, and which, from frequent repetition,
ceases to interest as soon as it is fully under
stood.
Itisnot given to man to penetrate futurity.
But may we not permit ourselves to anticipate
something of the judgement of the future on
the present, and to form conjectures concern
ing the discoveries of what is passing around
us, which are to be made by those who are to
come after us I Could we succeed in this,
how many things now incomprehensible would
then be plain?
Suppose it to be now revealed to us, that,
about the time ot Mr. Hayne’s celebrated de
fence of Nullification, he and his friends were
made to understand that Gen. Jackson, ifelec
ted to the Presidential Chair, would give his
countenance to the doctrine ; that he would
leave it to South Carolina to decide for her
self on the adoption of the measure ; and that,
i.i case she should adopt it, he would hold
back the arm of Federal authority from any
attempt to enforce the Tariff’ law within her
limits. —Should we be any longer at a loss to
understand the eager zeal with which that
State and the Anti-Tariff' party every where
hurried to his standard ? Should we wonder
at the alacrity with which Mr. Calhoun took
his place in the oMline of succession, as Vice
President to this new champion of States
Rights ?—Should we wonder that his jealousy
was awakened, when after this the President
was seen to give the first place in his favor to
Van Buren —'ft Missouri Restnctionist—anui
tra Tariffite—a man who had given his vote
for establishing turnpike gates on the Cumber
laud Road ? Can we be surprised at his fear
lest the great Mokannah should play him false,
and prefer to continue the newline of succes
sion, to the advancement of the Secretary ot
State, thefrst man in the favor of the Tresi
,dent, in preference to the Vice President, the
second man tn the favor of the people ? (a.)
(a.) They who will compare the Constitu
tion before and after Mr. Jefferson s first elec
tion, will see why it was that Mr. Adatns, V ice
President, succeeded Gen. Washington, and
was succeeded by Mr. Jefferson, V ice Presi
dent. They will also see why every popular
President since that day, has named his suc
cessor. Mr. Monroe quarielled with Mr.
Jefferson because be preferred Mr. Madison.
But he afterwards made his peace, was rc-‘
conciled to the party, and was anointed to the
succession as early as 1810, though not elec
ted till 1816. He’himself had not any trans
ferrable popularity, and the Ptolemies and Sei
cucus's of his court did not care to court his
patronage Mr. Adams could not save himself
from the consequences of his own folly and
vanity ; but after him, we have the same game
over again in the quarrel of Aan Buren and
Calhoun for Jackson's favor. It is commonly
charged upon Jackson that he first introdu
ced this corrupt practice. It is not true. Ihe
power results from the eagerness of office hoi
dersand office seekers, who w ish to worship
the rising sun, to know in what quarter he j
will appear. It will devolve on you too sir.
I pray you to exercise it discreetly, not as a
personal privilege, but as a sacred trust, cast
on you, perhaps uiidtsigiiedlv. by the change
of the Constitution. The A ice President is
no longer Ihe man whom, next aftet the. I resi
dent, the people, would prefer. He is a mere
appendage to the chief of his party a crea
ture taken up to catch a few votes —-tn short,
(I can descend no lower,) a Dick Jounson.
No man, therefore, stands, bv the act ot the
people, in such bold relief as to boa rallying
point to the office holding crew. They are
consequently obliged to set up one for them
selves, and engage the President to single out
a proper person in due time, and to advance
his pretentious by all the iuflueuce of his of
fice. This is now the established order of
succession. That which changes it, wants
Vol. VI—Ao 10.
nothing but bloodshed to invest it with all
horrors of a revolution. That mark will
be wanting much longer.
It in true. Van Buren was Vice President—
but he had been first Secretary of State, He
j was already the auoitilod favorite, and was
I elected »ice President by the command of
) Jackson, as a rebuke to the Senate for refu
■ smg to confirm his nomination to the Court of
St. James.
bhould we find all this to be true, sir, we
should but ascertain what many suspected at
the time, and it would make the breach be
tween Mr. Calhoun and the President as plain
as it is now unintelligible. It would explain
some other matters, too. It would explain
why Gen. Jakson from that time looked cold
ly on a scheme which, if successful, was to
give the ascendant to Mr. Calhoun, and uhy
that gentleman pertinaciously adhered to it, as
his only chance for baffling the schemes of
the president for the advancement of his min
ion.
While we are thus looking into the mirror
of the future to catch a reflection of the past,
what if in that magic glass it should be seen,
that a prospect of relief to the South was held
out, in the plan of negociation, a new commer
cial treaty with England, based on a repeal of
the Corn Laws, and the relinquishment of the
Protective System. If such had been the
President’s plan, we should no longer wonder,
that, though still siding with the South, he ad
monished them, through his partizans, to give
up the thought of Nullification, and to trust for
relief to his p< wer. influence & address. Judge
Smith would be a good witness, to show by
what authority he held out this idea, with so
much confidence, to the people of South Caro
lina. The President, too, perhaps, began to
see, that Nullification, however right in prin
ciple, would be of difficult application to such
a case as that of the Ts riff and that his own
position, even us a passive abettor of the expe
riment, would be delicate and critical. Such
was certainly the opinion of such of his friends
as were neither the partizans of Mr. Calhoun,
nor involved in the mazy metaphysics of the
South Carolina school of politics. They
might indeed have doubted a man, who, if not
deceiving them, had certainly deceived the
other party, but these doubts might well have
vanished al ihe vetoes of the Maysville Road
Bill, and the Charter of the Bank of the Uni
ted States.
Here then, sir, would be something to ac
count for the increased popularity of the Presi
dent with a party whs had stood in uniform
opposition to the Federal Government, from
the very inception of the Tariff policy. It
was to the votes of this party, united to those
of the drilled corps of Office-holders, and to
the votes of certain States, who never have
proved unfaithful to the actual possessorof
Fedei al power, that he owed his triumphant
re-election. And by what was this coalition
brought about ? By the manifestation of the
power and the will, to put down the authority
of Congress, and to bend the legislation of the
Union to his views.
Such was the state of things (no matter
what the cause) in December, 1832. At that
time, it was not yet certainly known, how the
Presiilent would bear himself toward the ex
p -riment of Nullification, d it should be actu
ally made. His bitter and implacable hostili
ty to Mr. Calhoun was, indeed, more than sus
pected. They who knew him well, were
aware too of the mixture of feline craft, with
the feline ferocity of his nature. But he had
so long shown nothing but the velvet paw to
the South, that they had forgotten the keen
and rending claw that lay sheathed within.
The idea that he was quietly lying in wait, un
til his enemy should come within reach of his
Tiger-spring had entered no man’s mind. To
the Northern lenders of the Tariff party it
seemed as if the South had determined to en
dure the protective System no longer; and
that there was no probability that the execu
tive would concur in any measures to enforce
submission. We all remember Mr. Adams’
declaration, at the opening of that session, that
the South mast have relief—full and substan
tial relief, and such as should be felt and ac
knowledged by themselves to be so. We all
remember the favorable auspices under which
Mr. Verplanck’s Bill was brought in and en
tertained. The Tariff party reluctantly made
up their minds to surrender the System. There
was no delay but what grew out of discussions
between the great protected interests. The
question between them wa«. “ where the loss
should fall.” Each was anxious to save as
much as possible to itself. Each was ready
to give up the others, it it could be done with
out losing their cooperation.
On the other hand, the contest between the
President and Mr. Calhoun was which should
have the credit with the South of the relief to
be afforded. Was it to be brought about by
the benign influence of the common master,
bent to do equal justice to all his people f Or
was it to be accomplished by the independant
action of South Carolina, guided by Mr. Cal
houn ? Each determined to defeat the oth
er’s scheme, each succeeded, and the South
was sacrificed.
The ambition of Mr. Calhoun got the start.
The hot spirit of South Carolina was spurred
to the leap,s: an Ordin nee of Nullification was
adopted. The Executive, utrnqne paratus,
had arranged its measures for the event. The
protection contumaciously rejected bv South
Carolina, was at once extended to the North.
The thunder of the proclamation was heard
A pause e sued, while all stood auribus, ar
rectis, lislouiug for the answering thunders
of that; great State, whose boast it heretofore
had been, that her gauntlet had been thrown
dev.’ii thirty vears before, as the Champion of
State Sovereignty, and that none had ever dar
ed to hit it up. They listened, and what did
they hear? They heard nothing but a weak
piping cry of scared expostulation. Nothing,
hut a sound, like that which issued trom the
Muse’s Lyre, when touched by the hand of
Fjsvr.
“ tie hack recoiled, he knew not why.
Even at the sound himself had made.
It was enough. In that pansc the doom of
the South was decreed. In that timid remon
strance. the Sovereignty of the States was
surrendered. —The effect on the deliberations
of Congress was decisive. The Tariff party
rallied. They sa tv that they had been fright,
ened with false fire, & ashamed of their fears,
threw Verplanck’s Bill coolly and carelessly
aside.
The effect of this unexpected reprieve of
their favorite system, was to turn the eyesand
hearts of all who were deeply interested in it
to him by whom it had been effected. The
Northern manufactures had seen that their re
liance on their numerical majority in Congress
had been at least, hazardous. State interposi
tion had assumed an attitude and aspect which
had nearly frightened them from their nrey.