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.Tune 30, 1833—9—tf x
ft E W T AIS SHOP,
THE undersigned, recently from the City of
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able style.
B. F. CRANE.
Dec. 2,-31—tf
EOUR months afterdate, I will apply to Jack
Be-nlnf.iCourt.tor (eave to sell the Real Es
-of Leonidas Few, dec’d. ferthe benefit of the.
heirs rand creditors.
JN’O. J, M’CULLOCK, Adm’r.
May 12,—2—3m
FOUR months after date, application will b‘‘
made to the Honorable the Inferior Cour 1
‘of Clark county, while sitting for ordinary ;
’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-
Iphans of Peter Purvear, dec’d..
JAMES B. DE AVENPORT, Guar’d.
of Peter Puryear, Minor.
% Mayl2,-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, deo’d-
JAMES SPRATLING, Adm’r
de bonis non.
Ma y-2» 1838—-4 -4m.
OUR months after date, application will
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, deceas'd.
ELIZABETH GRAHAM. Ad’m’x.
with the will annexed.
July 7—lo—4m.
IjTQUR months afterdate, 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 in
IAOUR months lifter date, application will be
E made to the Honorable Inferior Court, when
fitting for ordinary purposes of Habersham
county, for leave to sell all the Lands and Ne
groes belonging to the Estate of Benjamin
Vaucban, late of said County deceased.
JNO. 11. JONES, Adm’r.
jULIA VAUGHAN, Adm’rx.
July 28,—13
S’O"uti)€uu ®Uh)iai
jMissceUaueGtis.
From the New-Yorker.
SUNSET AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
I stood on the banks ot the Hudson, and watched the
last rays of the setting sun. I exclaimed aloud, invol
untarily, “ There is poetry in this scene, and I feel it.”
A friend who stood beside me, and who, in the loss of
* beloved ones,’ had been early made ‘ acquainted with
grief,’ requested me to clothe in language the thoughts
which that prospect inspired. I have complied, to the
best of my ability, but, I am conscious, very imperfectly;
for the glory of that scene transcends the painter’s pen
cil or the poet’s lyre. L.
Heaven’s glory—earth’s delight!
Minister of fight to all I
Miglity power, chasing night
From this dull terraqueous ball!
When primeval darkness lay
Brooding o’er the sullen deep,
At His word thy kindling ray
Broke the long and solemn sleep.
Chaos started into form.
Animated by thy beam;
Earth’s cold void began to warm,
Nature with her millions teem.
Life and light are in thy voice;
Wheresoe’r thy course is run, e
Thou dost bid the world rejoice,
Blessed, but more blessing sun 1
Now I mark thy parting ray
Lingering on the mountain’s breast;
Like a monarch’s is thy sway —
Like a monarch’s is thy rest.
Clouds of saffron fringed with gold
Draw the curtain round thy bed ;
Soft and radiant hues unfold
Drapery thy couch to spread.
Nature o'er her wide domains
Now her sable mantle throws,
And a solemn stillness reigns,
Save the sounds which bring repose.
Birds of eve in plaintive tones
Vesperhymns now sweetly pour ;
Through the pines the south wind moane;
Ripplesbrqak upon the shore. 1
Thou art gone ; nnd darker now
Gather round the shades of night.
Grief thus clouds the mourner’s brow,
When Death casts his early blight;
But another day shall rise—
Stars shall cheer the darksome gloom ;
• Hope thus points to brighter skies— 1
Death shall wake beyond the tomb L.
From Gardners’Anecdotes of the Revolution.
GENERAL WILLIAM BUTLER.
The interesting Anecdotes relative to the
sanguinary warfare in our interior country,
which immediately follow, were obtained from
Mr. Pickens Butler, son of the distinguished
revolutionary Partisan, the late General Will
tarn Butler.
The first unfortunately gives an appalling
picture ofthe savage ferocity exercised by the
Tories, while aiming at the subjugation of
their adversaries, and must in the eyes of can
dour, 'end to paiiate the retaliatory measures
resorted to by the Whigs. At a time when
the Loyalists were numerous and powerful in
the interior of the State, Janies Butler, who
was at the head of a party of Whigs, finding
himselfclosely followed, and likely to be over
powered by Cunningham’s horsd, sought shel
ter in a house near Cloud’s Creek. He was
quicklvassailed by his pursuers, and defended
himself with great gallantry ; but, his arnmtt
ritioti being totally expended, he was driven .
to tho necessity of listening to the tender of I
mercy proposed by Cunningham,■ and surren
dered. The house was now closely surroun- !
de.d to prevent escape. Tho arms of Mr. '
Butler and his partv were demanded, and giv- /
en up, when, to the disgrace of human nature
the unfortunate prisoners were marched out >
one by one, and deliberately cut to pieces, i
The ferocious leader of the Loyalists singled ,
out Mr. Butler as his victim, and slew him :
with his own hand. One man alone escaped. '
A monument, erected by William Butler, with I
pious regret torso cruel a bereavement, marks !
to this dur the spot where his intrepid father ’
fell.
Shortly after the capture of Charleston, Cap
tain Michael Watson, a man of great courage,
at the head of a party of eighteen mounted
Rangers, raised al the ridge of Edgefield, took
the field with determined hostility against ihe
Tones. William Buller (at an after period
so highly distinguished as an active and intrep
id Partisan) commanded a small body of caval
ry, fifteen only in number, near the same place.
These gallant Patriots, receiving infoniiutioti >
that a party of Tories were encamped in Dean’s )
Swamp, near Orangeburgh, resolved to attack I
them, and uniting their forces for that purpose, !
marched forward at sundown, with great ra
pidity, the more certainly to surprise them.
About midnight, they met with and detained
as a prisoner, one Hutto, a dieaffected man,
and taking him along with them, pursued their
march. At lhe dawn ofday, when very near
the encampment oftheir enemy, Hutto escaped,
which a’, once destroyed the hope of meeting
their adversaries unprepared for action. Wat
son declared it madness to proceed, but Butler,
who had recently wept a murdered parent, and (
whose feelings were excited to the highest
pitch of irritation, avowed his firm determin
ation to proceed at all hazards. Watson,
though disinclined in the first instance to pur
sue the enterprise, was not a man to be left be
hind, when a prospect appeared of gaining re
nown, and of serving his country. Oa the
verge of Dean’s Swamp, two men were seen
standing alone. Butler, Watson, mid Varney,
a Sergeant of great intrepidity, rode rapidly
forward to secure their capture, the rest of ihe
party closely following them. Buller was
now within twenty yards ol (hem, when Wat
son cried aloud, “ Beware 1 the whole body
of tuc enemy are at hand I” The Tories rose,
us he spoke, from theit ambuscade, and by a
well directed fire, brought Watson, Varney,
and several others to the ground. “Suffer
me not,” exclaimed Watson, “to fall into their
hands.” Buller heard the appeal, and though
severely galled in the attempt, in retiring car
ried W th him the bodies ot his friends.
It was now seen, that the Tories doubled
the number of the Whig Party, who expert
eticed the additional mortification of seeing
themselves abandoned by some lew ot (In ir
associates, wljo fled ; mid of tludnig; loaf in
ihe conflict, though short, the whole of their
ammunition had been expended. The Royal
■ ists were now advancing with perfect coiifi
fierce of victory, when Butler, forming his
i troop in compact order, mid miming an ir.trep
| id soldier, John Corley, Ids Lieutenant char-
I ged into their ranks, depending entirely on the
I sword. The violence and Suddenness of the
1 onset, astonished tind disconcerted the Cherny
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” JeJJcrSOn.
ATHEYS, CIEORftIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1838.
to such a degree, as to throw them into confu
sion. Had the opportunity been given them to
ially, their numbers would have given them
victory ; but, pressed by Butler with an im
petuosity even superior to that with which the
attack was commenced, they turned their
backs in despair, were driven into the swamp
with great slaughter, and dispersed. 'The
Whigs now returned to the high land. As
they passed the gallant Varney he made an ef
fort to rise—waved his hand in triumph—fell
again—and expired 1 Administering comfort
to those whom their care could benefit, a sol
diers’ sword, and Varney’s body deposited
where the brave are proud to lie—the field of
Victory!
gallantry of a boy o? four.
TEEN.
When Captain Falls, at the battle ofßnm
sour’s Mill, received a mortal wound and fell,
his son, a youth of fourteen, rushed to the body,
as the man who had shot him was preparing
to plunder it; regardless of his opponent’s
strength, the intrepid youth, snatching up his
father’s sword, plunged it into the breast of
the soldierj and laid him dead at his feet. — lb
LIEUTENANT PARHAM.
During the action at Stono, Lieutenant Par
ham, the Adjutant of the Light Infantry, was
stationed by Major Pinckney in the rear ofthe
Continentals, purposely to keep the men in their
stations, and prevent the possibility of skulkers
behind. As he passed over the field of battle,
a British officer, desperately wounded, pressed
him so earnestly to afford rum a drink of wa
ter, to slake consuming thirst, that to refuse
was deemed impossible, and the request was
complied With. The British officer now pre
sentins an elegant watch, said, —“Take it,
Sir,’tis yours by conquest; your generous
procedure, too, gives you still greater title to
it.” “I came into the field,” said Parham,
•’to fight, and not to plunder; it gives me
pleasure to have rendered you service; I ask
no other recompense.” “Keep it for me then,
in trust,” rejoined the officer, “ till we meet
again, for if left in my hands, it may be wres
ted from me by some marauder, who, to secure
silence, may inflict death.” “I will accede
to your wishes, and take charge of it,” said
Parham, “ but soon as opportunity offers, con
sider it a sacred duty to return it;”
A very considerable period elapsed before
a second meeting took place ; but, tn strict con
formity to his honourable feeling, and volunta
ry promise, Parham no sooner found him.,elf
within reach of the man to whom he had pledg
ed Iho restitution of his property, than he wait
ed upon him, presented the watch, and was
greeted with an expression of grateful com
mendation, that amply rewarded his correct '
and liberal conduct.
THOUGHTS ON EARLY SPRING.
By the deep forest’s yet unwaken’d green,
To tread on wither’d leaves, and herbage neW,
And trace the first young buddings’ tender sheen;
The downy liverwort’s sweet eye of blue,
And pale anemone, on amber stem,
Faint—blushing delicate—the woods first gem.
Where the fresh fountain bubbles into light,
Amidst tha ferns that fringe her mossy brink,
Inlaid with scarlet berry, gleaming' bright,
Invites the wanderer to stoop and drink ; j
O! give me one sweet day amidst the woods,
The vernal, stirring breeze, and rous’d-up floods !
The fitful spirit of the wilderness
Raiseth the heart, and the adoring eye,
To Him who doth with early beauty; bless
The slender service-tree that waves so high,
Her snow-white wreathes amidst the unclad wild ;
And owns the sparrow for His mercy’s child.
I love all blossoms ofthe early spring ;
All living things the winter-storm hath left:
The red-cup moss, the myrtle—fragrant thing!
Each tinge of life within the rock’s dark cleft:
And when the blue-bird warbles sweet and clear.
To rest in some charm’d spot, lhe hymn to hear,
Where lhe sweet water fall is chiminglow,
Amidst the shrub-roots,and the old gray stone ;
Catching the sunbeams in her sparkling flow,
And shadows of the forest branches, lone,
Yet leafless, rustling tuneful over head, j
With thwarted twigs beneath the blue sky spread;
There flow to Him my soul! my joyful soul,
Upward with the elastic air, and scent
Os early buds; and gentle sounds that roll
Arr idst the boughs ; and song of waters, blent
With hum of new-waked insect, on the wing,
And all the breathing harmonies of spring.
He who hath form’d us for devotion, He
Hath worn our nature ; and hath lov’d to pray
Where the wild woods, his temple’s canopy,
Gave a religious color to the day;
Here let us gather strength, e’er wc depart -
Where the world calls. God keeps the pure in heart.
W.
From a late number of the Edinburgh Review.
ASTONISHING FACTS RELATIVE TO
AFORME RORG A NIC WO R LD. !
Dr. Buckland now proceeds to the most, im
portant and popular branch of his subject, to
give a description ofthe most interesting fossil
organic remains, and to show that the extinct
species ot plants and animals winch formerly
occupied our planet display, even in their
fragment relics, the same marks of’wisdom
and design which have been universally recog
nized in the existing species of organized be
ings.
After givii g some account of the supposed
cases of fossil human bones, and establishing
the remarkable fact of the “to'al absence of
any vestiges of lhe human species throughout
the entire series of geological formations,” our
author passes to the general history of fossil j
organic remains. .
; “It is rharvetlbus that mankind should have >
I gone oji for so many centuries in ignorance of
I the fact, which is now so fully demonstrated
■ that no small part ofthe present surface of lhe
earth ia derived,from lhe remains of animals
that constituted the population of ancient seas.
Many extensive plains and massive mountains
form, as it were, ihe great charnel houses ol
preceding generations, in which the petrified
exvitiai ot extinct races of animals and veget-
! ablca are piled into supemlous monuments ol
■ the operations of life and death, during almost
: immeasurable periods of past time. ‘At the
sight of a spectacle;’ says Cuvier; ‘so impo- I
sing, so terrible, as that of the wreck of ani
mal life forming almost the entire soil on which
we tread, it is difficult to restrain the imagina
tion from hazarding some coijectnres as to
the cause by which such great effects have
been produced.’ The deeper we descend in
to the strata ofthe earth, the higher the ascent
into the archeological history of past ages of
creation. We find successive stages marged
by varying forms of animal and vegetable life,
and these generally differ more and more wide
ly from existing species as we go further down
wards into lhe receptacles of the wieck of
more ancient creations. * * *
“Besides the more obvious remains of tes
tacea. and of larger animals, minute examina
tion discloses occasionally prodigious accumu
lations of rniscroscopic shells that surprise us
no less by their abundance than their extreme
minuteness ; the mode in which they are some
times crowded together may be estimated from
the fact that Soldani collected from less than
an ounce and a half of stone, found on the
hills ofCasciuna, in Tuscany, 10,454 miscros
copic chambered shells. * * * Os sever
al species of these shells, four or five hundred
weighed but a single grain ; of one specimen
he calculates that a thousand individuals would
scarcely weigh one grain.”
Extraordinary as these phenomena may ap
pear. the recent discoveries of Ehrenberg,
made since tile publication of Dr. Buckland’s
work, are still more marvellous and instructive.
This eminent naturalist, whose discoveries
respecting the existing infusorial animals we
have already noticed; lias discovered fossil ani
malcules, or infusorial organic remains; and
not only lias he discovered their existence by
the microscope, iut he has found that they
form existing strata of tripoli, or pdleschiefer,
(polishing slate.) at Frazenband, in Bohemia ;
a substance supposed to have been formed
from sediments of line volcanic in quiet waters.
These animals belong to the genus Bacillaria,
and inhabit siliceous shells, the accumulation
of which form the strata of polishing slate.
The size of a single individual of the animal
cules is about l,2Sßth of a line, the 34001 h of
part of an inch. In the polishing slate from
Berlin,in which there seems no extraneous mat
ter, and no vacuities, a cubic line contains, in
round nutnbets, 23,000,000 of these animals,
and a cubic inch 41,000,000,000 of them. The
weight of the cubic inch ofthe tripoli which
contains them is 270 grains. Hence there ate
187,000,000 of these anirualculesju a single
grain, orthe siliceous coatof one of these ani
mals is the 18,000.000th part of a gram !
Since this strange discovery was made, Mr.
Ehrenberg has detected lhe same fossil ani
mals in the semiopal, which is found along
with the polishing slate in the tertiary strata
of Belin, in the chalk flints, and even ia the
semiopal or noble opal of porphyritic rocks.
What a singular application does this fact ex
hibit of the remains of the ancient world I
While our habitations are sometimes built of
the solid aggregate of millions of microscopic
shells ; while as we have seen, our apartments
afe heated and lighted with the wreck of
mighty forests that covered the primeval val
leys, the chaplet of beauty shines with the very
sepulchers in which millions of animals are
entombed 1 Thus has death become the hand,
maid and the ornament of life. Would that
it were also its instructor and guide.
THE STREAM OF DEATH.
There is a stream whose narrow tula
The known and unkown worlds divide,
Where all must go :
Its waveless waters, dark and deep,
Mid sullen silence, downward sweep
With moonless flow.
I saw where at their dreary flood,
A smilling infant prattling stood,
Whose hour was come;
Untaught of ill, it near’d the tide,
Sunk, as to cradled rest, and died,
Like going home.
Follow’d with languid eye anon,
A youth, diseased, and pale, and wan,
And there alone
He gazed upon the leaden stream,
And fear’d to plunge—l heard a scream,
And ho was gone.
And then a form in manhood’s strength
Came bustling on, till there at length
He saw life’s bound ;
He shrunk and raised the bitter prayer
Too late—his shriek, of wild despair
The waters drown’d.
Next stood upon that surgeless shore
A being bowed with many a score
Os toilsome years.
Earth-bound and sad he left the bank,
Back turn'd his dimming eye, and sank.
Ah! full of tear?
How bitter must thy waters be,
Oh Death ! How hard a thing, ah mo!
It is to die !
1 mused—when to that stream again, '
Another child of mortal men
With smiles drew nigh. j
“ ’Tis the last pang,” he calmly said—
•‘For me, O Death ! thou hast no dread
Saviour, I come!
Spread but thy arms on yonder shore —
I see ! —ye waters, bear me o'er!
There is my home !”
“1 WISH 1 WAS RICH.” •
Hew fii quently do we hear this wish ex.
pressed, yet how seldom is it that we find a man
who has in this respect, attained the object of
his wishes. Look Upon that thin, haggard,
care-worn (Tian, with a countenance depicting
anxiety in every furrow channelled in his shri
veiled face You would suppose, from his up.
pear .nee, that he is in the extremity of want—
a houseless beggar—but go upon change, ex
amine the financial operations of th ■ po't, and
you will find that he is the controller of mil.
lions, the arbiter of the happiness And fortunes
of one half of the community. But he is not
rich. He commenced his Career a pauper;
money he desired, money he obtained, money
he now posseses ; but he still deshes, and
therefore, he is still a poor man. Now look
upon that old gentleman with a benevolent, sat
isfied countenance ; there is a strii'le on his lip,
and his clear blue eye . twinkles with delight
at every rcma>k made by the bchutilld bloom
ing daughter hanging (In his arm. He cannot
command lhe wealth of the nation, he has not
ihe means of hording up thousands of dollars,
yet he is richer than the person first remarked,
who has at bis command the wealth of a na
tion. Why is he riclier I Because he is con
tented with his lof. Tiie first man looks upon ■
the possession of wealth as the principle of i
happiness, and would obtain that wealth by j
any means ; the second believes his dui.V to f
God and man requires that he should act well j
lhe part in which he has been cast, and hav
ing accomplished th.it duty, he is continued.
' A man contented with his stntion, and posses- I
sed of the proud consciousness of having done
his duty to his family and society, is richer
than the millionaire, who; tho’ he has acquir
ed the riches of the Indies, would not be satis
fied if he possessed lhe whole world.—Balti
more Sun. •
From the Richmond Whig.
TO HENRY CLAY, ESQ.—Letter X.
Sir—ln my last letter, I intimated my con
fidence that you, as President of the United
States, would faithfully adhere to the Compro
mise of 1833. 1 owe it to myself and to you.
to show the grounds of this confidence. I have
said that, but for that, these letters would not.
have been written. For myself. 1 frankly ack
nowledge that I was not satisfied with that
Compromise. But others, my political friends,
were and still are, satisfied with it, and require
nothing but a reasonable assurance that it will
not be violated—such reasons as I have for
believing, that by you, at least, it will be re
spected, I feel it my duty to assign. I ani
moreover impelled to this by my indignation at
the renegade paitizans of Mr. Van Buren,
who would persuade the State Rights party
that the opponents of the Tariff have every
thing to fear from you, and nothing from
him.
I repeat, sir, that I was not satisfied with
that Compromise. But its adoption convinced
me that it was all that could be got, for it show,
ed the utter want of that spirit to which more
might have been conceded, and to which the
more timorous of the Tariff party had just
been willing to concede so much more. It is
now remembered, to the credit of your mag
nanimitv, that vou who had never consented
to yield any thing to the demands of a party
who had seemed to be in condition to enforce
their demands, were the first to grant freely
what was tremblingly entreated as a boon.
And here, sir. give me leave to speak one
word for mvself. There are those who affect
to think me a Federalist in disguise. Such
will not understand how a man professing to
have alwavs belonged to the State Rights par
ty, can consistently speak of Mr. Calhoun the
self-elected champion of that party, with se
verity. To such let me say. that it is because
I have always belonged to that party —that I
have been less inclined to be indulgent to one
whose connexion with it has only been occa
sional—who first joined) and then embarrassed
and then betrayed it, for reasons only under,
stood by myself, and to whom, perhaps, that
party owes as deep and as bitter resentment
as to any other man who lives, or has lived
Mr. Calhoun himself docs not pretend that he
even understood the principles of that party,
until, in the chair of Vice President, he found
leisure, for the first time, to acquaint himself
with the true character of that constitution un
der which he was then the second officer, hav
ing already aspired to be the first. Until then
he was too eager in the race of ambition, and
belonged to a party, as he tells us, too drunk
with power to think of such things. A part of
this is doubtless true —but Mr. Calhoun, in
pursuing these new studies was perhaps guided
to his conclusions by considerations of which
he says nothing.-Practical matter-of-fact men
remember only, that an that day Mr. Adams
was President; that you stqpd next in the order
of succession, enjoying more of the favor of
the dominant party than i’uc President himself; I
that Mr. Calhoun, too belonged to the same
party, on the docket of which hts pretensions
stood postponed to a day quite too distant for
that gentleman’s patient ambition. What was
to be done? The State Rights party has al
ways been pis alter of those who could do no
better; and what belter use could Mr. Cal
houn make of his dignified leisure than to stu -
dy its principles ? He did so, and, as new
converts always go ahead of those who do but
continue to worship in the church where their
i’.thers worshipped before them, so did the
fiery zeal and unquestioned ability of this gen
ii 'man soon place him in a position to reproach
the cold prudence and dull apprehension of
men before distinguished for intuitive quick
ness of thought, and unhesitating boldness.
Compared to him, Randolph was a dunce, and
Hamilton a craven.
I n honest truth, sir. I have long been an ad
mirer, but never a follower, of Mi. Calhoun.
A State Rights inan “of the most strictest sect
brought up at the feet of Gamaliel,” I yet con
demned the course of South Carolina in 1832
as unconstitutional, impolitic,and unjust to her
own people. But I also condetffned tlie cra
ven Compromise which riveted the Tariff ol)
ihe South for a stipulated time; Under the sem
blance of a promise of the ultimate relief,
which many of those who made it. declared, at
the time, not to be binding on their constit
sti tuents. 1 do believe, that having
mg provoked a threat of coercion, South Car
olinti was bound to put it to the proof, wheth
er a sovereign State of this Union could be
coerced. She had taken a position which
had brought the doctrine of State sovereig-.ty
into disrepute. She had been instrumental in
casting an illusion over the public mind, which
nothing but lhe sight and scent of blood could
dispel. She had made the sacrifice necessa
ry, and slie was bound to furnish lhe victim.
She shrunk from the arbitrament stie had her
self invited, & certain of her delegation in Con
gress, returning home amid the hootings of
their e-iemies, and the p ty of those w ho wish
ed them well, claimed the Compromise as a tri
umph of Nullification, and had their ciaims al
lowed by their constituents.
In ail these things Mr. Calhoun was prim.-'-
mover, and in none of these was I bis to.low
er. Yet I cannot deny, that when in Febiua.
rv 1833, 1 saw him standing almost alone, the
mark of detraction and niuievolen.ee:
“When the whole host of hatred stood hard by
To watch and mock him shrinking.”
th on o-h I could not compliment him on his
firmness under this persecution,my sympathies
were strongly drawn out towards him. Ihe
cause in which he was suffering, though, lost
as I believed, by his mismanagement, was my
cause, and all his faults were forgotten. 1 had
before seen him actively engaged in the sup.
port of every on« of those measures, the per
nicious effects, of which tie was’bleu anxious
to remove : but 1 determined it should be en
ough, that he had repented of bis errors, and
was striving to repair them. In that moment,
they were blotted from rny mind, as I hoped,
forever. A more resolute and manlier bear
inn- would have commanded more of my re
spect, but he had all my sympathy. When I
saw him thus set before the Philistines, to
make them sport, could he have braced his
nerves to the occasion, and booed himsell, in
his might, against lhe pillar-’ of that lemple
of Dragon, crushing himsell and his persccu
j tors in one ruin, I should have
felt that a tear to his fate would have been dis
honor to his memory. How proudly then
would I have taken up the triumphant funeral
chaunt i f lhe noble poet!
•‘Thy name, our charging hosts along
Shall be the Battle-word!
Thy praise the theme of choral song,
By Virgin-voices poured !
To weep would do thy glory wrong :
Thou shalt not be dephred !!”
It in end to recollect, (and though the re
collections be of one who always stood front to
front opposed to you, an implacable though no
ble foe, to none will this recollection he sadder
than to yrtit) that in that moment, camo peal
ing through the air the thrilling war-cry, then,
for the lust time utteted, of ona whoso voice,
till then, was never heard in vain. It was
like the dying shout of “Marmion to the res
cue!!” cheering thoso whose rashness had
left no hope, except in prudent boldness, to one
more fiery charge for “Death or Victory.”
“But out alas!
We dodged again as I have seen a Swan,
With bootless labor, swim against the tide.
And spend her strength with overmatching waves.”
In that day it was seen, Sir. that Mr. Cal
houn was not the man to abide the shock of
an arbitrament so stern. From that time, un
til very lately, I regarded him as a gentleman
ofthe best intentions, whose sanguine temper
was apt to betray him into difficulties, which
it better suited bis Complexion to evade, than
to overcorrle;
Hence I thought it quite in character, when
I saw him, soon after, uniting with you, sir,
and your friends, on the Bank question, to a
venge himself of his enemies, and to put down
the authors of the Proclamation and Force
Bill. In the coalition, I beg leave to say, I
had no faith, and took no part. And here again
Mr. Calhoun miscalculated. The strength of
this new alliance was unequal to the underta
king. The Force Bill remains on the Statute
Book; the Proclamation is ths Constitution,
and the Protest and Expunging Resolutions re.
cord the triumph of the Administration.
But hero again, what to others seem disas
trous defeat, is claimed by Mr. Calhoun as a
tiiumph on his patt. “We have gotten back,”
he says, “to the principles of 1337, and all
since then is forgotten,” 'ihe maxinis of the
State Rights parly, it seems, have been re-es
tablished as the true reading of the Constitu
tion, and as a grand overture, in celebration of
the event has been gotten up in Mr. Colhoun’s
resolutions, he playing first fiddle fur (hat night
only. This free ben'efft, however, appears to
have been the price of his services for the rest
of the season. In consideration of that, he
has agreed to forget and so-give all the past
and to believe that these new concerts to State
Rights are quite sincere. Pity that he had not
availed himself of the opportunity to obtain
the repeal of tho Force Bill, enacted by the
votes of these very men; and condemned by
tho wh le tenor of the resolutions just adopted
with such marvellous unanimity.
But I have wandered from my purpose. I
was about to speak of a scene, which I can
never recall, without being reminded of the as
tonishing effrontery) which; at this day cele
brates, as a triumph that hour of abject humil
iation. I allude to the passage of the Com
promise Bill. It was my fortune !o be present
on that memorable night, and surely nothing
that ever passed under my eyes is more vivid
in mv recollection than that whole scene. To
you, sir, such things have lost the interest of
novi lly which they wore to me ; and I may
therefore, be excused for speaking, even to
you, of that in which you were at once a wit
ness and an actor. lam persuaded, however,
that you will not fail to recall distinctly, even
circumstance that I shall mention.
It was rather a conversation in the Senate,
than a debate. The subject was the obligation
of the compromise on the future action of those
who might vote for it, and on any subsequent
Congress. You may remember, sir, that Mr.
Webster excused himself for assenting io the
compromise, by saying, that should he do so,
he should feel himself bound in honor to defend
it to ihe last. He added that he had no right
so to bind his constituents; that he was sure
they would not be willing to incur any such
obligation; that, at the proper time they would
insist on a repeal of the law, and should he, by
his own act, disable himself to do their will,
they would supply his place by some one not
so manacled with pledges. Hu had therefore
no mind to do that which would force his re
spected constituent?; in duty to themselves, to
turn him out of their service;
O , this Mr. Clayton expressed his surprise
th.it any gentleman should be restraiued from
adapting lhe compromise, by any such consid
enition. For his part ho did not understand
. himself as comic;* under any pledge. He
shoul I vote (pr the bill, and should vote for the
repeal, whenever it might seem expedient.
Mr. Sprague then said he should vote for
the bill, and in doing so, should consider him
self as Coming finder some sort of a pledge.
But, he expressly declared, that ho would not
explain that pledge. It was hard to under- j
stand his drift: He professed not to mean to
be understood,-and declared ho would not bo
catechised.
So much for the boasted sanctity ofthe boast
ed compromise ! To hi ar Mr. Caibcun one >
would suppose that these gentlemen, alarmed
by the terrors of Nullification, had not only vo
ted the compromise, but bound their conscienes '
as with fetters of iron, to hold it sacred, devo- ,
ting themselves to the infernal gods, if they ;
should ever violate it. Now, sir, you will bear :
me out, in saving, that no other gentleman, '
North of the Chesapeake, uttered one word oa |
that occassion, and that neither of these said j
more or less than 1 have set down.
Where; then, is that pledge, on which Mr.
Calhoun would have the world believe that he
has a right to rely so confilently? Where is
his authority for vaunting his own good faith,
and for saving, as he has so often said, of late,
that he would be careful not to touch the Com
promise, lest, by so doing, he might release
others from tfteir pledges? Where were those i
pledges? By whom made?
He knows, sir, as well as you or I: but since .
he has taken service under the usurper, he will;
be careful not to tell. He would rather have |
it believed that the great danger of tlie viola-1
tion of the compromise is from you. And yet
he knows, that the only intelligible pledge upon
the subject was given by you. j
To speak, is, with you a matter of every days .■
occurrence. To hear you is a rare privilege i
not easily forgotten by those who enjoy it. I
heard you, sir ; and though you maVnOt re-,
member your words, you will recognize them ;
as reported by another.
You declared, that, in voting the compro-i
miso, you considered yourself us coining under]
Vol. VI—Yo £O.
a sacred obligation to preajrve it. Y u at
the same time said, that you nad the 11- hes
itation in deiag this, because you were ure
that long before the year 1842, the Southern
States themselves would have become bo fully
sensible of the blessings ot the tariff, n? to re
enact it, it necessary by their own votes. You
added somew hat playfully, that you had iih ap
prehension of burtheuing your conscience with
a pledge, which they who had existed it
would eag-rly relinquish.
I can never forget either your countenance
or Mr. Calhoun’s at that moment; the slightly
Sarcastic expression ofthe one,or the wretch
edness nnd helplessness of the other. I mar
ked the smile, sir, which accompanied your
last words, and have often pondered on its im
port. Was it suggested, in part, by a con
sciousness, that, whatever construction, in af
tertimes, might be put upon the compromise;
by those in power, that gentleman would be
ready to adopt as the true one, sooner than
again try conclusions with the Federal Govern
ment, and again provoke the danger from
which you were then in the act of rescuing
him ?
The tiiumph of Nullification!! Has it ever
happened to you, sir, iu the adjustment of any
little personal difficulty, to have to do with one,
at once clmry of his honor and hisskin, and
who, while ready to concede any thing and
every thing you might require, yet threw him
self on your magnanimity, not to disgrace him
by requiring too much? Oh stick occasions;
have you not fell pretty much as you felt at
that time ; and has not. your adversary looked
pretty much as Mr. Calhoun looked? Why
ancient pistol never chewed his leek more
tamely? Did it enter your, head, sir at the
time you were making concessions to save
yourself, your principles, or your cause ! Such
must have been lhe fact, if indeed, that day
was the triumph of Nullification. Did Mr;
Calhoun himself then speak of it as such? To
whom ? Openly? No! To his own party ?
No ! He swore “he woiikl lie revenged—Hor
ribly R venged ;” and a Southern Convention
was to be the instrument of his vengeance.
IV hat ot it ? Sotnq. member of the lower
house went hick to South Carolina,and baited
his gull-tr.ip with this stuff, about the “triumph
of Nullification,” The thing took; the peo
ple were persuaded to throw up their caps ;
the air rung with the “Io Tbumphe” of thou
sands; nothing more was heard of the South
ern Convention; and the Proclamation and
Force Bill stand lhe u .impeached record of
the doom of State sovereignty and State inter
position.
And S#uth Carolina devotes herself to the
fortunes of Calhoun! ! The gallant State
which he degraded and disgaced, by placing
her in a position where she could neither strike
nor ward. He had led her to the Caudine
forks, where she was fairly made to pass un
der thn yoke; and now our modern Posthu
mins claims a triumph !!!
Now, sir, I would ask of those who per
suade themselves that the observance of the
act of compromise depends on the personal
good faith of individuals, wish sccuiity of
that sort they hate, th it the act will not be re
pealed at the convenience or caprice of a ma
jority of Congress? Who but you, agieed to
bind even himself? And who pretended to
any right to bird constituents I Should you b<j
elected to the Presidential chair, you would be
elected under that pledge, distinctly under
stood. Os whom else can we say the same'l
Who else would have the same fur plea, for
using the influence, and, if need be lhe author
i’y of his office, to prevent the repeal of that
law ?
I shall dismiss the siffjeel with this ques
tion. At another time I shall off'-r some rea
sons why its repeal would be undesirable.
A FRIEND TO STATE RIGHTS.
From the Charleston Courier.
A BANK OF THE UNITED STATES.
; Our past and present experiendb, equally
* admonish us of the necessity of re-establishing
I an institution of this kind, inorder to cure our
disordered currency, and keep.it hereafter in a
; healthy state. Twice already, in our short
■ history, has the establishment ofa National
i Bank been attended by it sound cdrrency. and ,
its extinction been followed by a suspension
i of specie paym mis and severe commercial em
i barriissnienis. Twice has a National Bank
; ivseti- d us from financial disorders, and twice,
i have State B mks, freed from the control of
■ their proper regulator, plunged us anew into
i pecuniary difficulty and distress—impairing
; the national finances, and producing cotamer.
( cial bankruptcies to a fearful extent. In 1791,
’ the first Ba. k of the United States was estab
. iished, and for twenty yeas of its chartered ex.
j istence, dispensed the blessing of-a sotind pa
i per currency, equally to Government and to
th: People. In 1811, its charter expired, and
a narrow construction of the Constitution by
the politic.d party in power, having prevented,
its renewal, the monied and fiscal concerns of
the Country fi ll into the hands of the State
B nks, and in three years, in 1814, the result
c f the withdrawal of the great regulator was a
! suspension of specie payments, an the compul
i sory adoption of both Government and People,
'ofan unsound and depreciated p iper currency.
The fiscal and commercial evils incident to
tuis State of things, compelled the party in
power, in two yeas, in 1810; to abandon their
constitu'io.ul scrupl. s, and, under the lead of
the groat bank adversary of the present era, to
charter another bank of the United States.—
The result was ng iin auspicious, and even mora
so than ever. In spite of early mismanage
ment, which fhreateued its,own existence, the
new National Institutions again brought order
out of confusion, restored specie payments,
cottfi ed the S'ate Banks within salutary lim
its, and restored a s >ii<id paper edrfenty for
both the Government mijj the People. Never
did a country enjoy a better and more uniform
currency, than did this republic, under the re
gal .ling influence of the late Bank of the Uni
ted Stales. Its paper, convertible jnto specie
on demand; even belter than specie, tircu
lalitig at par over the entiro Union, and asser
ting the soundness of its credit by answering
tmjiifrposes of trade even in the remote region
of China —the tea trade of which was once
th: insatiable gnlph of specie. The whole
country, with exceptions too inconsiderable to
be worth notice, Was satisfied, because blessed
with this admirable currency—comm rcial
exchanges were facilitated and equalized, and
the public revenue was collected and distribu
ted without expense, pressure or difficulty—
both the People an I the Government, prosper
ed in the enjoyment ofa sound and uniform
Currency. In art evil hour, while there was
scarce a breath of disco ilent stirring against
the existing system, a false notion of danger to
the national finances, (falsified by fact) entered
ti e brain of the distinguished caiefuia at thfd