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and voice have doubtless often been tell: ales;
but I was an entire stranger to her parents,
and I did feel as if it would be scarcely hon
orable—as if it would be stealing another
man’s treasure —if I took advantage of her
absence from home to declare my love—
much more, if I attempted to draw from her a
promise that she would be my wife. But
n ow ”
“Now thou canst speak, thou soul of hon
or. Well, as I said before, God bless you!
Good bye.”
“Good bye, Charley. Fare-thee-well, Mrs.
Evelyn. A pleasant journey, and a safe re
turn to you.”
Evelyn took his seat by Jessie’s side—the j
four noble horses bounded forward, and in a j
moment they were out of sight.
The fire glowed warmly—the sofa was !
wheeled near it—the shaded lamp shed a soft,
moon-like radiance through the room—the
crimson curtains were closely drawn —in
short, Mr. Ashley’s quiet parlor was the
very picture of home-comfort that evening.
Minnie sat by the centre-table, looking over
some books that had been sent her during
her absence, and her mother’s knitting did
not engross her so completely, but that her
gentle, loving eyes, were often turned upon
the pure, beautiful face, on which the light
fell so softly. And hers were not the only
eyes that lingered there. Herbert Lacy had
seen Minnie often, both in the ball-room and
the drawing-room, with all the advantages of
elegant and costly attire, when her cheeks
were glowing, and her eyes sparkling with
animation—but never had she been so lovely
in his sight as then, in her plain dress of dark j
merino—her only ornament the small brooch |
that fastened a blue ribbon about her throat,
and her rich, wavy, brown hair, simply part- 1
ed on her forehead.
“You are a Virginian, I believe, Mr. Lacy
—of what town are you a native?”
“Oh, no! I was born, and my father, and
my father’s father before me, at L and, a
beautiful village, not far from Boston.”
“Indeed!” There was a slight tremulous
ness in Mr. Ashley’s voice, and perhaps his j
cheek paled a little. If it did so, no one no
ticed it. “And your father’s name—may I
ask it?’’
“Thomas—Thomas Lacy. He died when Ii
was about six years old, under very painful
circumstances.’’
Mr. Ashley made no reply, and presently
left the room. His wife looked earnestly and
anxiously at him as he passed out, and very
soon followed.
They were alone—Herbert and Minnie.
The color deepened on the young girl's
cheek, and her small foot beat the carpet ner
vously, but she did not look up. She felt
that a pair of dark, eloquent eyes were bent
earnestly upon her, and the unseen glance
made her heart tremble and flutter, like a :
newly caged bird.
“Minnie!” There was no reply. “Min
nie, come sit here on the sofa, will you not ?
I have something to say to you,"’ and Her
bert’s hand rested for a moment lightly on
her own. She raised her eyes suddenly, and
moved by an irresistible impulse, the young
man twined his arm around her, and drew
her to his side. “I need not tell you that I
love you, Minnie—you know that I do; but
do you, can you love me?” It Minnie an
swered him, her voice was so low as to be
inaudible to any save a lover; but either her
silence or her words, must have been perfect
ly satisfactory, for Herbert Lacy bent his
head until their lips met in a warm kiss, and
he exclaimed, “Then you are mine, Minnie,
darling—mine forever!”
Laugh as you may at the romance of
young hearts—call it nonsense, folly, or
whatever you will. Yet you are to be pitied
—you whose lip is curling in the haughty
pride of manhood while you read—you are to
be pitied, if you do not feel in your very heart
of hearts, that that was a hallowed moment.
You are to be pitied, if there is not some such
chapter in your own history-, that you may
still read by the light of memory’s taper —if
there are not some such recollections still
powerful enough to pierce through the earth
crust that has gathered over your spirit, and
bid the fount of tenderness that surely lies
hidden there, gush forth to the light again.
“Mine forever, Minnie!”
“But my father, Herbert; you must gain j
his approval before I can promise to be
yours.”
“I have it already, dearest. I told him this
ryorning that I loved you ; that I hoped—was
I not very bold, Minnie ?—that I hoped I did
not love in vain; and he said that his sanction
should follow yours. So my doubts and fears
are all over; you will surely be my own
sweet wife.”
When Minnie, on her way to her own
chamber, passed her mother’s door that eve
ning, she paused before it, and laid her hand
npon the latch. She longed to enter, and
tell her of her newly found joy. But as she
listened, she heard her father’s voice, mingling
with her mother’s, in earnest converse, and a
vague dread of coming evil—such as will of
ten fling a shadow upon the soul, in its sun
niest moments—swept over her spirit, and she
stole noiselessly away.
[concluded next week.]
Death of “Amelia,” the Poetess. —A tele
graphic dispatch from Louisville, Ky., announces
that Mrs. Amelia B. Welby, the gifted and popular
poetess, died in that city, on the 3d instant. The
Mobile Register says: “She was unquestionably one
of the most talented female writers of poetry in this
country. Her writings were characterized by great
beauty, delicacy, and purity of thought, by richness
and brilliancy of imagery, and by a musical rhythm
seldom surpassed. Her maiden name was Coppuck,
and she was a native of Maryland. Some fifteen
years since she commenced the publication of her
verses iu the columns of the Louisville Jour
nal, and through the laudatory notices of Mr. Pren
tice, soon acquired a wide fame. She was then
married to Mr. Welby, a wealthy merchant of that
city, and has frequently written for different period
icals. Her poems have been collected in a volume,
which will now have an added interest from the ear-
death of the gifted authoress.”
GES. SCOTT OX SLAVERY.
Washington, Feb. 9, 1843.
Dear Sir :—I have been waiting for an eve
ning’s leisure to answer your letter before
me, and after an unreasonable delay, am at
last obliged to reply in the midst of official
occupations.
That 1 have ever been named in connection
with the Presidency of the United States,
has not, 1 can assure you , the son of an an
cieni neighbor and friend, been by any desire
or contrivance of mine; and certainly I shall
never be inthe field for that high office, unless
placed there by a regular nomination. Not,
then, being a candidate, and seeing no near
prospect of being made one, I ought perhaps
to decline troubling you or others with my
humble opinions on great principles of State
Rights and Federal Administration; but as I
cannot plead ignorance of the partiality of a
few friends, in several parts of the Union,
who may, by possibility, in a certain event,
succeed in bringing me within the field
from which a Whig candidate is to be se
lected, I prefer to err on the side of frank
ness and candor, rather than by silence, to
allow an} 7 stranger unwillingly to commit
himself to my support.
Your inquiries open the whole question of
domestic slavery,which has, in different forms,
for a number of years, agitated Congress
and the country.
Premising that you are the first person
who has interrogated me on the subject, I
give you the basis of what would be my re
ply in greater detail, if time allowed and the
contingency alluded to were less remote.
In boy hood, at William and Mary College,
and in common with most, if not all my com
panions, I became deep]} 7 impressed with the
views given by Mr. Jefferson, in his “Notes
on Virginia,” and by Judge Tucker, iu the
Appendix in his edition of Blackstone’s Com
mentaries, iu favor of a gradual emancipa
tion of slaves. That Appendix I have not
seen in thirty’-odd years, and in the same pe
riod have read scarcely anything on the sub
ject ; but my early impressions are fresh and
unchanged. Hence, if I had had the honor
of a seat in the Virginia Legislature in the
winter 1831-’3*2, when a bill was brought
forward to carry out these views, I should
certainly have given it my hearty support.
I suppose I scarcely need say that, in m3’
opinion, Congress has no color of authority,
under the Constitution, for touching the re
lation of master and slave within a .State. —
I hold the opposite opinion in respect to the
District of Columbia. Here, with the consent
of the owners, or on the payment of “just;
compensation,” Congress may legislate at its |
discretion. But my conviction is equally 7
strong that unless it lie step by step with the
Legislature of Virginia and Maryland,it would
be dangerous to both races in those States to
touch the relation between master and slave
in this District.
I have from the first been of opinion that
Congress was bound by the Constitution
to receive, to refer, and to report upon peti
tions relating to domestic slavery, as in the
case of all other petitions; but l have not
failed to see and regret the unavoidable irrita
tion which the former have produced in the
Southern States, with the consequent peril
to the colored race, whereby the adoption of
any plan of emancipation has everywhere
among 11s been greatly retarded.
I own, myself, no slave ; but never have
attached blame to masters for not liber
ating their slaves—knowing that liberation,
without sending them in comfort to some p
sition favorable to the “pursuit of happiness,”
would, in most cases, be highly injurious to
all around, as well as to the manumitting
families themselves—unless the operation
were general and under the auspices of pru
dent legislation. But lam persuaded that
it is a high moral obligation of masters and
slaveholding States to emplo3 T all means, not
incompatible with the safety of both colors,
to meliorate slavery, even to extermination.
There is no evil without, in the order of Pro
vidence, some compensating benefit. The
bleeding African was torn from his savage
home bv his ferocious neighbors, sold into
slavery, and cast upon this continent. Here
in the mild South the race has wonderfully
multiplied, compared with anything ever j
known in barbarous life. The descendants
of a few thousand have become many mil
lions; and all from the first made acquainted
with the arts of civilization, and above all,
brought under the light of the gospel.
It is gratifying to know that general melio
ration has been great and is still progressive,
notwithstanding the disturbing causes allu
ded to above. The more direct progress of
emancipation may, no doubt, be earlier com
menced and quickened in some communities
than in others. Each, Ido not question, has
the right to judge for itself, both as to time
and means, and I consider interference or aid
from without except on invitation from au
thority within, to be as hurtful to the sure
progress of melioration, as it may be fatal to
the lives of vast multitudes of all ages, sexes
and colors. The work of liberation cannot
be forced without these horrid results.—
Christian philanthrop3 7 is ever mild and con
siderate. Hence all violence ought to be
deprecated by all friends of religion and hu
manity’. Their persuasion cannot fail, at the
right time, to free the master from the slave
and the slave from the master : perhaps be
fore the latter shall have found out and ac
knowledged that the relation between the par
ties had long been mutually prejudicial to
their wordly interests.
From the promise made to Abraham, some
two thousand years had elapsed before the
advent of our Saviour, and the Israelites, the
chosen people of God, were, for wise purpo
ses, suffered to remain in bondage longer than
the Africans have been on our shores. This
race has already experienced the resulting
compensations alluded to ; and as the white
missionary has never been able to penetrate
the dark regions of Africa, or to establish
himself in its interior, it may be within the
scheme of Providence that the work of
spreading the Gospel over that vast conti
nent, with all the arts and comforts of civiliza
tion, is to be finally accomplished by the
restored from American bondage.
A foothold there has already been gained for
him, and in such a scheme centuries are but
seconds to Him who moves the world as man
moves a finger.
1 do but suggest the remedies and conso
lations of slavery 7 to inspire patience, hope
and charity on all sides. The mighty
subject calls for the exercise of all man’s
wisdom and virtue, and these may not suffice
without aid from a higher source.
It is in the foregoing manner, m3 7 dear sir,
that I have long been in the habit, in con
versation, of expressing myself, over all our
common country, on the question of negro
slavery, and I must say that I have found but
very few persons who differ with me, howev
er opposite their geographical positions.
Such are the views or opinions you seek. 1
cannot suppress or mutilate them, although
now liable to be more generally known. Do
with them as you please. I neither court
nor shun publicity.
I remain, very truly, yours,
WINFIELD SCOTT.
T. P. Atkinson, Esq., Danville, Va.
Stniintl.
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA:
FRIDAY MORNING,.... MAY 28, 1852.
Electro-Anthropology.
On Wednesday night, the “original and unique”
Prof. Shaw, made his appearance before the public
in this city. Language is too poor to describe the
performance. It was tremendous. Boys got drunk
on cold water, picked strawberries off of planks,
froze with cold in mid-summer, washed their faces in
empty space and wiped them with a walking stick.
No man who has an eye for tragedy, farce, fun,
or frolic, can fail to be amused —and science itself
can learn wisdom from the very entertaining but ec
centric leoturer.
ID* The General Assembly of the Presbyterian
Church of the United States, commenced its annual
session in Charleston, S. C., on the 20th inst. About
two hundred members were present, representing
Presbyteries in all parts of the Union. Rev. J. C.
Lord, D. D., of Buffalo, N. Y., was elected Moder
ator, by acclamation. He is said to be a bold and
able advocate of the constitutional rights of the
South. Rev. Mr. Lowrie, of N. Y., was chosen
Clerk. The report of the Treasurer of the General
Assembly shows a balance on hand of $1,846. —
The committee on the Cheap Newspaper, reported
strongly in favor of it.
Parties and Party Conventions.
As the time draws near for the assembling of the
Democratic and Whig conventions at Baltimore, and
all eyes are turned in that direction, it may not be
amiss to refresh our recollections as to the principles
upon which parties ought to be formed, and to con
trast them with those upon which oar preraut political
organizations are based.
A true party is the voluntary association of indi
viduals of the same political creed", and lias for its
object the dissemination of its dogmas among the
people, and the elevation of the statesmen who em
body its opinions, into the offices of the Government.
Tried by this standard, there is no organized party
in the United States. There are political associa
tions, it is true, which leave no stone unturned to el
evate their favorites to office ; but neither of the
great political parties are united in the advocacy of
any fixed and fundamental political principles. Take,
for example, the Democratic party. What single
political principle is recognized as sound Democratic
doctrine in all sections of the Union? We of the
South are the sworn enemies of protection, but the
Democratic iron monger of Pennsylvania claims its
exorcise for his favored interest. Woof the South
are opposed to internal improvements by the Gene
ral Government, but the dwellers upon the “Inland
Sea” would circle the earth with a rail road, and
pour the flood of waters of the Mississippi through a
Governmental canal, if they could. Woof the South
are the advocates of slavery, but if we expect to be
admitted into Democratic fellowship, we must have
a kindly word for Giddinos, and shake Rantoul
cordially by the hand. We agree upou no single
issue, yet we are all good Democrats, provided we
all vote for the Democratic candidates, and are wil
ling to share equally the spoils with all who wear the
Democratic hat and feather.
Now look at the Whig party. What is its faith ?
Who arc its leaders ? Is it for protection ? Webster
and Fillmore are, but arc Toombs and Stephens? j
Is it for the Compromise ? Toombs and Stephens
are, but are Seward and Scott? Evidently the
Whig party has no principle iu common. Southern
Whigs are bound to the Whig party only by the
feeble hope of Fillmore's nomination for the Presi
dency—a forlorn hope, surely, without a single peg
to hang upon.
There is. then, no Whig party —there is no Dem
ocratic party ; and the associations so called are con
gregations of office hunters and spoilsmen, who,
under the mask of once venerable forms, are practi
cing a cheat upon the people.
Is there, then, no conflict in the political world ?
Has the Millennium dawned? Dots the leopard lie
down with the kid—the lion and the fading togeth
er ? O, no. A conflict more fierce, deadly and
rancorous is raging in the breasts of these pretended j
friends than ever raged in America before. Strip j
off the Democratic and Whig masks which these
gentlemen wear, and look at them as they are.
There are Seward and Giddinos, and the Abolition
ists and Free Soilcrs on one side—they wield the same
weapons—they aim at a common object—the de
struction of slavery and the South. They aro one
party.
Over against them are Toombs, Butler, Rhett,
Dawson. They are Southern men—they all own
slaves— T thcy are all the advocates of the institution ;
and each, in his own way, is no doubt striving to
serve and save his section. Disguise it as you may,
they are another party, and must triumph together,
or be buried in one common grave.
And yet these sham parties have conventions,
electors, candidates, spell-words, banners, and par
tisans. While these real parties have now no voice
in Congress, no conventions, no press, no candidates,
but prostrate upon the ground they lie, like Gulliver
in a deep sleep, among the Lilliputians. No doubt tiie
day of awakening will come, but too late, alas ! for
the South. The giant North can break her chains,
like Samson, when the hour of awakening comes—
her locks are unshorn ; but the South—who can
give her back her strength ? her secret is in the
keeping of unfaithful Deliluhs, who, for gold, have be
trayed it to her enemies, and will be the first to cry
out in the day of her calamity—“ The Philistines be
upon thee, Samson !”
Has the South no champion who can survey the
whole field, and collect the broken fragments of her
I power, and strike one more blow for his native
land ?
“One blast upon his bugle-horn
Were worth a thousand men.”
Union at home can save the South. And
why can wo not have this union ? Upon what
great practical question are wc divided—tho U.
! States Bank, the Tariff, Interna! Improvements?
No Southern man can now differ about these old
issues. We all are in favor of the execution of the
Fugitive Slave Law. What other questions are now
open ? Some crazy politicians are talking about the
endorsement of the Compromise measures as a “fi
nality”—but how ridiculous it is to attempt to force a
lie down our throats ! The slavery agitation has not
ceased at the North —the Fugitive Slave Law is not
executed faithfully. These are the only open questions.
California is in the Union—the territorial govern
ments of Utah and New Mexico are established, and
no one is urging their overthrow — Texas is dismem
j bered, and has pocketed her bribe—the South is ac
l quiescent—the North will not perform her part of
j the adjustment. There is, then, no cause of quarrel
i among Southern men. Let us, then, unite and make
common battle on our enemies—and let our battle
cry be, The Union of the South for the sake of the
Sooth !
Robbing the Mail.— George Lottingliam, clerk
in the Albany post office, has been arrested on
the charge of purloining valuable letters at various
times. He was held to bail in the sum of $2,000. Na
thaniel L. Johnson, post-master at Dana, Mass., and
James S. Brown—charged with detaining a letter
from the office—hare been held to bail at Boston.
Summer Resorts.
The increasing heat of summer warns us that
thousands of our people will soon quit the dusty
streets of our Southern cities, and seek health and
pleasure in the cooler atmosphere of the mountains, i
Before it is too late, we desire to say a few words to
them as friends of the fair and sunny South.
The soil of the South supports you. The roll of
bank bills which swells your pockets is the fruit of
her cotton fields. If it is spent abroad it will enrich
other sections, and leave your native land poor in- I
deed. It is in your power to make her desolate
places bloom and blossom like the rose. Rich in the
choicest fruits, unsurpassed iu the variety and beauty j
of her natural scenery, refreshed by sparkling springs I
of medicinal waters, the South is the garden of the
whole earth, and deserves the love and admiration
of every man who can appreciate the sublime, the
beautiful, the picturesque in natural scenery. We
will not depreciate the North or Northern people,
but we confess to a partiality for our own homes—
we love and admire our own people. Genius sits j
enthroned upon the brows of our men; and
love sports in the dimpled cheeks of our women.
There is therefore no excuse for these annual flights
to the North—where our youth are brought in con
tact with the free manners of Northern cities, and
learn to ape their extravagances —where they forget
or affect to despise the simple habits and unostenta
tious manners of their fathers—where they imbibe
the isms which infect the Northern mind—where
they lose the high-toned morality which character
ized their ancestors.
That is a good saying, which commends itself to
every honest heart—‘‘There is no plaee like home.”
If we wish to be great, free, and happy, we must
stay at home—adorn our residences, beautify our
resorts, make them Mtccas to which the world will
come, and receive lessons in virtue, in taste, in ele
gance, in patriotism. No people ever were even re
spectable who were cursed with absenteeism No
such people ever have an independent character. No
such people ever can be felt in the world. They
are always poor imitators—apes, buffoons, without
pride, without self-respect, without self-reliance. It
is the duty of the patriot to stay at home. Lend
your countenance, then, to your own watering pla
ces ; take your daughters there—they will make even
common resorts fascinating. No wonder that Sarato
ga and Newport are charming places, when all the
beauty and elegance of tho South are added to the
attractions of the native fair. No wonder that the
Southern watering places are dull and unattractive,
when one half of the gifted and lovely and beauti
ful are in other lands. Come back, truants, to your
own homes, and they will eclipse the cold and sol
emn North.
In this connection, our readers will pardon us, if
we take tho liberty of commending to them the
Chalybeate waters and Warm baths of Meriwether.
The enterprising proprietors tender to you their
hospitalities, through our columns, and wo hope
none of you will be backward in putting their pro
fessions to the test. We guarantee to every visitor a
cordial welcome and comfortable quarters.
r written FOR THE SENTINEL.]
The Opelika Ilail-Road Subscription.
M essrs. Editors : It seems to me that the very
doubts which pervade the public mind upon the ques
tion, whether this road, if completed, would, all things
considered, be of advantage to her citizens ? ought
to induce the advocates of the proposed fifty thou
sand dollar subscription to abandon the proposition,
until it shall become evident, that a large majority of
the tax payers are in favor of it. The case ought
to be plain—the general advantage obvious to all, or
nearly so—to justify taxation to support such a sub
scription.
The proposition to subscribe one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars to the Girard and Mobile road, was
sustained by an almost unanimous vote ; and if the
friends of the Opelika subscription are right, let
them calmly and respectfully submit their arguments
and reasons ; allow time for reflection ; and they will,
in due time, find that the people arc intelligent enough
to undeistand and appreciate properly, the whole
subject. The very hot haste, with which they are
attempting to drive their project through, very just
ly excites distrust, and awakens a suspicion that after
all, there is, or will be, if this subscription should be
made, a conflict of interest between the city of Co
lumbus and the stockholders in the Muscogee road.
Until the subject has been thoroughly investiga
ted by the people, with ample information before
them upon all points to bo considered, they cannot
be indifferent to the opinions of men of such expe
rience, good sense and forecast, as the leading stock
holders of the Montgomery and West Point Rail-
Road ; who expressly desire to build this Opelika
branch, to protect them against other Rail-Road
movements on our part.
Mr. Pollard, tho able, experienced and popular
President of that Road, concludes his late report in
the following language :
The Directors have not convened you under the au
thority conferred upon them at your bet annual meet
ing to do so whenever they deemed it proper to have
your action upon the building of a Branch Road from
Opelika to Columbus, lor the reason that they deemed it
prudent to provide fully for a renewal of heavy iron on
the main Road, before assuming responsibilities for
building a Branch. Believing now that within a short
period this will be provided for, they would urge upon you
the importance of acting on this matter, and ot passing
such resolutions as will enable the Board to take the
necessa-y steps to promote the building of this Branch
as speedily as possible, a woik demanded as a protec
tion from rival roads and which will add largely to our
receipts. CHARLES T. POLLARD, President.
The rival roads referred to, are of course tho Gi
rard and Chunnenuggce, and Mr. Pollard hopes to
call to his aid in breaking them down, the Muscogee
Rail-Road, whose leading stockholders are now anx
ious to accomplish, not at their own expense, but at
the expense of the city of Columbus, the very work,
which this able man, after years of reflection on the
subject, concludes will protect bis rood against the
rival roads to which he refers! Shall we put our
foot into that trap ?
[WRITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
Margaret Fuller.—-Second Fnper.
In her conversation, the bouquet of her vari
ed and admirable qualities was found, but an anal
ysis of these was not possible from it. There
was one idiosyncrasy, always disagreeable, not
loss ill her than others—what wo commonly call
self conceit. Mr. Emerson styles it the mountain
ous ME. She would speak and write of herself in
the most self-complacent terms. She would say of
Once she stated—“l have now met, and fathomed
all the minds most worth knowing in tho country,
yet find none comparable to my own.” Sucli “state
ments of fact,” were by no means rare. In all this,
there was something hereditary, and phenomenal,
for in its despite she was a simple-hearted, humble
woman.
Another of her traits, betokening a constitutional
tendency towards mysticism, thereby proving her
all the more richly oriental, was a half belief in De
monology. She had her days, tokens, amulets and
numbers. Singular that, in puritan New-England,
such a pagan notion could have come to be the sub
stratum even in part for a soul! She cherished her
demon as reverently and fondly as Socrates, and a
good friend it was, too! Had she called it instinct,
or insight, the most orthodox could not object to her
petting it. Her perception was all a woman’s—bring
ing her in a twinkling to results, which, if not so
broad and massive as those which come from the
intellectual operations of a large minded man, were
more immediate, palpable and well defined. Still,
her conclusions were not always reliable ; as her eye
did not ever look through the pure, white light, but
often through the hazy, gorgeous atmosphere of
fancy. Few Americans, even before her going
abroad, have had so nice a discernment, exquisite
judgment, in matters of art. Many of her happiest
hours were spent in studies ofform, ooloring.and vocal
harmony. Os the painters, she most loved Raphael;
Angelo she most admired. The first satisfied, the
other stimulated her. Beethoven was her composer.
Indeed, in listening to his symphonies, she experi
enced a rapture never felt in her studies of any oth
er department of art, far transcendiug all the delight
drawn from literature. She had been a precocious
child —reading Latin at six years. Her father
taught her for several years, and applied to the in
fant mind training and tests, fit only for maturity :
so that while this fair haired child should have been
sporting in the fields with flowers and butterflies,
she was immured in a closet puzzling over Livy and
Tacitus, or wrought up to a ruinous excitement by
Siiakspeare and M< liere. Children have no busi
ness with books until eight or ten years old.
She was yet a child, when Italian and Spanish
were added to Latin and French, and at the age
when our young women commence receiving the
attention of beaux, and forgetting what little they
did know she acquired German in three months,
without a teacher. This was one of the decisive
steps of her life ; for it was to the sons of Germany,
that she mainly owed what of good aud ill, she had
within herself. Goethe particularly exerted more
influence over her than any other, and had it not
been for the strength of her nature, her individuality
would have been destroyed by her reverence and
worship of the sage of Weimar. It was here that
catholicity of being was fostered, so that all kinds of
people, all efforts of mind, all schools of art, found
in her ready appreciation and quick sympathy.
We wish some of our young female readers would
get the book, if only to see how much work a woman
can do, and perhaps the sterner sex would not find it
unprofitable to compare their exertions with those of
a life long invalid. We have known something of
work and workers, but the record of this person’s la
bors at times —as, for instance, when a Teacher in
Mr. Aleott’s School in Boston, the winter of 1836—is
almost incredible. Nobly did she give herself to
teaching, not as drudgery, but as a high vocation,
lofty as most, less than none 1 Afterwards when
she betook herself to Letters, she worked in the
1 same gigantic way, as to toil and strength, though
the estimable product thereof is small. She
struggled bravely to become an artist, and though
in the creative sense she did not, yet a true hearted
guide to art was she to many.
Still, amid all her labors, crowned with wreaths
of praise, woven by loving hands, the confidante of
nearly all who knew her, the appreciative judge of
all the youthful genius of New England, and the
friendly counsellor of its inaturer mind, herself the
centre around which they admiringly clustered,
Margaret Fuller had time and occasion to be sad.
Her girlish friends became blushing brides and glad
hearted mothers. But the refined, elevated, ab
sorbing love of man came not to her. Worshipped
she was, as few have been ; but as Diana, not as
Venus. Men woo Cytherea, and offer homage to
Minerva. Margaret was plain and poor. The
beautiful and wealthy had suitors, and to spare. The
gifted had friends. Artist life is beautiful, but suffi
ces not fur a large souled woman : the heart pines
for the unity found only in marriage, and the joy
which springs from motherhood. Plaintive enough
are her sobs—breathed not even in friendly ears, for
she did not complain ; but only in the sacred pages
of her journal—at her isolated loneliness. Her coun
trymen wondered when they heard of the love bred
in the souls of Italian men for this noble woman ;
noble, not only in mind, but heart; they were sur
prised, the conventional wretches, when they learned
that the great and rich had offered themselves in
humble devotion to the sister they had honored, but
could not love. But the woman bated no jot of
heart or hope, and went calmly forward in her duty,
I heroically, truthfully, ever. She waited patiently,
j until the time of her probation was ended, and then
in the aisles of St. Peter’s, beneath the dome plann-l
ed by her revered Michel, there came the presence,
which thenceforth was to be part of her own, in
j life and in death. Did our limits permit, we would,
gladly trace this woman’s history to its mournfu j
close; especially how she showed all the woman’
and all the saint; great in resources; tender in a.
j foetion—during the Roman struggle for liberty. II Jv
she was worthy to stand by Mazzini’s side to co i
sel, and beautifully self remunerative in becomJig
nurse in the hospital for sick and wounded soldies;
i how the tides of a woman’s and mother’s love f/>d
| ed, when she held her first born to her breast /and
how the tide of Death swallowed them all, Alter,
mother, child, in its gurgling waters, just ti they
were in sight of home ! /
The bowk is written by her three friend?, J. F.
Clarke, It. W. Emerson jyid \V. 11. Chanung, and
admirab]y # exocuted it is. It is not dramitie, like
Carlyle’s ’‘Sterling,” but is more satisfying. Abund
ant materials were at their command in l|er letters
and journals, as well as in their own well remember
ed intercourse. Rightly enough, they all.tw her to
speak for herself when possible. Os the three,
Channing’s part is most appreciative : Emerson’s
most complete, leaving a more rounded impression.
From an Occasional Correspondent.
Astor House, New York.
Friend Lomax:—You observe that 1 have at
last entered on the fulfillment of my promise to give
you an occasional letter. Your parting request is
one with which I would fain comply—“write for the
Sentinel as you would write to me.” This request,
l trow, conveys a delicate hint, that in narrating in
cidents of travel, I must not mount my Pegasus.
Now, to apprise you how freely 1 appreciate the
wisdom of the suggestion, I can only hope, that if
I essay to indulge such “vaulting ambition,” you tv
readers may at once pronounce me “Anns du combat .’i
I But are you aware that your request is one morej
j easily made than complied with ? Indeed, the tasla
|is difficult. We are naturally solicitous, when wife
| “appear in public on the stage,” to put our best fnfert
! foremost; and unless this same foot has often Inyen
put there before, we are liable before we make inir
exit, to “put our foot in it.” In other words J (t
speak no longer after the “manner of a figure,” )f o,r
solicitude to impart interest to a narrative of
travel, may at once defeat our design, tine In
scription being overwrought, to meet the fanej/edex
pectation of the reader, in lieu of being the rt/cod of
thoughts which spring spontaneously to the yntid, as
objects of interest are successively brougl/t under
view. So, Mr. Editor, if I fail to act \ij\io your
suggestion as aforesaid, please rememb/er that I
! know what to do, my difficulty being, hr/jvto do—
“the spirit indeed is willing, but the fiesp,os weak.”
You observe that I write to you from/A'ew York.
You must not expect, however, from-,. Vis eircum
: stance, that I intend giving you a des j/ption of the
“sights” which abound in and about famous lo
cality. Indeed, I have as yet, off the
dust of travel, and, consequently, & aid but on the
threshold of the thousand and c -e objects which
’ must interest the visitor to this xvojderful city. Ho
ping, hereafter, to give you a letter in which I may
j announce the fulfillment of the bright anticipations
with which I visit New York, I will retrace my
| steps in giving you some of the incidents of travel
which have occurred during the long journey which
has just been brought to a close. Since leaving
Columbus, I have seen much to amuse, to interest,
and I may truthfully add, to fatigue. On the sup
position that objects which fatigue the traveller,
would, in description, fatigue the reader, I will pass
in silence the first part of my journey—and lest you
should laugh at my expense, in observing that my
narrative commences at Wilmington, N. C., please
remember that I had just left the boat which brings
passengers from Charleston to this latter city, and
I that it is hence fraught with interest, as the terminus
,of that famous sea-voyage. Being forewarned with
j respect to the Railroad route through North Caroli
na, I was prepared to be jolted into a continuous
state of rheumatism, and to witness the unending
prospect of turpentine barrels, and pine trees strip
ped of their bark for eight or ten feet, to admit the
ready flow of ths juict. Passing through North
Carolina, we hurried on via Richmond, where we
halted long enough to read the papers, experiencing
this pleasure for the first time since we left home.
Some of our party, passing through Virginia for the
first time, looked in vain for the country seats of some
of the wealthy citizens of this renowned Common
wealth ; but the Railroads here, as elsewhere, pass
through the most barren section of the country, re
minding the traveller that in exchange for the speed
at which he goes, he must lose sight of all the coun
try but what is least interesting, and all of the cities
but their suburbs. In lieu of the boundless forests
of pine which meet the eye in North Carolina, we
see in Virginia, fields which have long since been
cultivated to the removal of the last stump, or the
stunted growth of cedar and spruce, covering hill
and dale. A long avenue planted with these last
mentioned trees, and leading to some antiquated
dwelling, is occasionally presented to view, ndd
’ ing a striking feature to the marks of time which
impress the whole face of the country. Leaving the
soil of Virginia, we were happy no less to exchange
land for water, than to emerge from our uncomfort
able quarters in the ears, to the fresher air and more
j spacious apartments of a steamboat. We were ser
ved on board the boat, with an elegant dinner; an
event which is worthy of being chronicled, in con
trast with the miserable fare which we had encoun
tered since leaviug home. The traveller, by Rail
road, must be possessed not only of an accommoda
ting appetite, but of the utmost diligence in gratify
ing it; or he must, in the former ease, expect to cut
the acquaintance of the culinary art, or in the latter,
hear the sound of the bell hurrying him to the cars
at the moment when he was preparing to make an
inroad upon his meal. North Carolina has the dis
tinguished pre-eminence of affording a respectable
] dinner to travellers; which said dinner, however,
I travellers have not half time to masticate, before they
| must strike the lino of march fit the cars ; lon go
intervallo, comes a dinner on the waters of the Po
tomac, to which the traveller b/akes himself with a
keen appetite, and with the comfortable assurance of
eating as long and as much asflie pleases.
The Potomac presents a J expanse of placid wa
ters, which, to the eye ac/ustomed to the smaller
| rivers of the Southern seeyon of the Union, is no less
j picturesque than irnposm/ We now reach a stage
■ in our journey, which is/vested with peculiar inter
est, as we are approach/g a sanctuary no less ven
erable than the residen/e and grave of Washington.
The American, in t/velling through the United
States, exults in eontfmplalion of the vast extent of
territory over whicy is extended a government of
freemen. His hi/’t throbs in the living conscious
ness that he is one of a race, who experience the
highest degree e/liberty which has ever fallen to the
lot of man : in c/ier words, that he is an American
citizen. With / hat emotions, then, must he who
experiences tli tie blessings, approach the homo and
grave of him yoo was so highly instrumental in ac
quiring and transmitting them ; who, by universal
consent, is rfsignated the Father of his Country !
All eyes wife eager to behold Mt. Vernon ; while
the wisli is/eing gratified, and the heart is yielding
its homa# to the sanctuary, what sound is that
which fays with solemn cadence on the ear! ’Tis
the knelfwhieii every passing boat in this land of
Washington tolls to the manes of the illustrious dead !
’Tis a/ation, chanting a requiem to the immortal
VVasLyigton!
Ager passing Mt. Vernon, we obtained some
whayof a bird’s-eye view of Washington City. The
irn/ distinct object in sight being the Capitol, all
oA* were naturally fixed on it. The Washington
Mmument, now in course of erection, already ar
| rfsts attention ; the site being one which commands
| / panoramic view of the Potomao. It being the
jpvish of a portion of our party to halt in Washington
f City, for the purpose of seeing President Fillmore
j And the big bugs, and attend the sitting of Congress,
‘it required but little deliberation, after putting heads
together, to adopt a course which would thus gratify
I both curiosity and patriotism. But, Mr. Editor, I ,
perceive that I have written you a letter already too i
long. I cannot, of course, now give you my impres- j
sions of men and things in Washington City. I may
resume my pen again soon, but will make no prom
f-je. You remember that my promise was to be on
l*i an occasional correspondent. Having determined
tli employ this morning in writing you my first Ict
tfer, before entering on my career of sight-seeing in
afew York, it is probable that T have thus embraced
tile only opportunity which might have presented
itlelf, of giving you even my first letter.
I I remain yours, in “L. P. & F.”
\\ shington Correspondence of the Sentinel.
( Washington, May 20, 1852.
’rhe approach of the Baltimore Convention stops
tl e where of all other business but that. Wash
it Tton i crowded with the political manceuverers,
w | lO eitf'er have or want to get office. Tho Ins
tt yn<2to keep in, and the Outs bent on ejecting
t! em. While the Whig schism grows wider, but
In ,k*n finitely more like a squabble between parti
sji n# than a contest for principles, the Democratic
h Ks buzzing most noisily. The Tennessee politi
ck I, who are anxious for a restoration of the Polk
dlfisty, are here in great numbers. Gen. Pillow’s
rsn at Brown’s, is their chief rendezvous. Tho
little General is here, trying his best to counteract
tliel big one, and exceedingly anxious to get the nom
ination for the Vice Presidency, lie does not care
much who heads the ticket, so lie seconds it. life
’ chances are rather small, but nobody knows what
Jay may bring forth in a party parturition. The
l opeeial advocates of Cass, Buchanan, and Douglas.
i?e working away as hard as possible. Gen. Lane’s
.-lends are also active, and there is a strong under
current setting in, in favor of Marey, on the one
; hand, and Lane, on the other. Stockton is eonsid
i ered out of the question. His speeches have given
him an effectual quietus. Buchanan’s chances im
prove, as those of Cass decline. But those who
think the latter stone dead, are much mistaken ;
they do not know the wonderful tenacity of life the
old schemer lias, lie is as hard to head off, as Mr.
Butts found Captain Tyler. His friends will make a
regular stand up fight fur him, and he will go very
strong into Convention. Several of the Southern
Rights men are under instructions to vote for him;
but such instructions only bind for the first ballot,
and they will give him the cold shoulder just as soon
as their complacent duty has been performed. Ilis
friends know this, and therefore will make every ex
ertion to push him on the party at the first ballot.
Should they fail in this, then his prospeet for the
nomination will be over, and his power will be ex
hibited in choking off his chief rivals. Should he
be the nominee, Mr. Marshall’s graphic description
of the result will surely be fulfilled. The Democra
cy will march to defeat with muffled drums, espe
cially at the South, where the Nicholson letter is
killing. The tone of the Southern papers, and the
emphatic protest made against his nomination by
some of them have tended very greatly to cripple
him. But for the very decided opposition, and the
open expression of it at tho South, he would have
walked over the course. As it is, the present indi
cations are very unfavorable to him. The Southern
and Northern wing of the Democracy are coining
together on a kind of non-committal platform. The
idea at present is, that nothing will be done about
the Compromise measures in the Baltimore Conven
tion—or. if reference is made to them, it will be in
such guarded and general terms, as not to drive
out either the Northern or Southern divisions of the
party. The Southern Rights men have kept per
fectly still recently. So have the Georgia Platform
men • but the Democratic Freesoilers have broken
silence, and been firing away very loudly. They load
with ball, too, and defend their position with the
most refreshing frankness. Hale led off in the Sen
ate. lie gave the party to understand most dis
tinctly, that his allies at the North possessed the
power of defeating the nominee, by falling back on
the Buffalo Platform, and running an independent
candidate—and that they would do it, if any tests on
the slavery question were introduced into the Balti
more Convention. lle insisted that that topic should
not be touched, but that the entire party should co
operate irrespective of that issue, and leaving it open
Otherwise he and his friends wonld bolt. I tl t |,„
House, Preston King, of New York—Van Buren’s
right hand man-made precisely a similar move
ment, and was seconded by a speech of the same
temper, by Mr. Floyd, of the same State. Both of
them, and in fact the whole of the Northern Free
soilers, declare the Fugitive Slave Law to be a dead
letter, as far as its practical working is concerned.
They say it never has and never will be executed in
the North, for the sentiment is against it, and statu
tory enactments will avail nothing against a deep
rooted popular conviction. Recent events would
go to prove they are right. The two latest incidents
are, the passage of a bill through both branches of
the Massachusetts Legislature, nullifying the Fugi
tive bill—which was only arrested on engrossment,
by a majority of 11 votes—and the trick by which
Gov. Hunt, and the Abolitionists of N. York, cheat
ed the last applicant out of his slave. Gov. Ilaut
pardoned the man, whom the abolitionists had put in
jail to evade the application of his master, and they
spirited him away before ho could be got hold of.
The friends of Gov. Hunt declare that he was en
tirely innocent of any complicity in this trick, but
somehow or other, these mistakes always occur on
one side. W ith the fairest promises and professions
for tho authorities, the owners of fugitives always
manage to get every thing but their property. This
stand taken by the Freesoilers, perplexes their politi
cal allies not a little. If they are driven off, and
the nomination of Gen. Scott conciliates the Whig
Freesoilers, then the Democracy would be in a fixed
minority—an awful position for partisans. If their
bold attitude is allowed, then other difficulties pre
sent themselves. The compromisers feel sore. So
do the Southern Rights tnen—for the defiance is a
bold and a loud one. Yet tho introduction of the
same test which would drive out the Freesoilers,
would also erowd out the Southern Rights men. S.
the probability is, that “noise and confusion” will b#
avoided in the Convention, if possible. If the fray
does commence—which is not improbable—there will
be a general break up, and a division of the Demo
cratic party into several separate parts, each fight
ing on its own hook. W Inch of the two courses
would bo best for Southern interests, the opinion of
staunch Southern Rights men vary upon. Some go
for reorganization, others for purging the party.
W ith such divided sentiments —they will go into
Convention, and no one can tell what will come of
it. The chief piece of business done for the present
week, has been the passage of the Collins appropria
tion in the Senate, by a majority of two. The vote
is appended—from which you will see that the
measure is by no means as strong as its friends an
ticipated, and it is now uneer,..in whether it will
finally pass. In addition to the fact of the very close
vote, several who voted for it, did so with an express
declaration that they only gave it for this special oc
casion, and would probably oppose the repetition of
the proceeding. When it came to a vote ia tho
Senate, it emit and thus :
Mr. Mallory. I have agresd to pair off with tho
honorable Senator from Delaware fMr. Bayard] upon
this question.
Mr. Walker, called lor the reading of the amend
ment, and it was read accordingly.
.Mr. Cass. I mentioned before, I believe, my desire
to have the time chanced from the 31 -1 of December,
1354, to the 13th of January of the same year.
The President., It is ik t m order to offer that amend
ment at this time; it will be in order when the bill comes
up in the Senate.
Mr Bell. I desire to state that I wish to support this
line of steamers, and shall vote for this appropriation
now, but will not vote for it in tho Senate unless it is
modified 1 understand that efforts will he made to
irtoilify it when it comes up iri the Senate. I de-ire to
sustain this line by a reasonable and proper appropriation ;
but l must say, that although I vote for it now, I shall
not vote for it in the Senate, unless some modifications
are made to it.
Mr. Dawson. I will take this occasion to say that
the vote I now give, under an implied understanding to
gratily the feelings of some Senators, is no pledge of the
vote which 1 shall give when the amendment comes up
in the Senate; for lam not in favor of the proposition
as it now stands. But I will vote to keep the amend
ment before the Senate, in order that we may have mors
time to deliberate upon it, and also to have a fuller Sen
ate when the vote i- taken hereafter.
On motion by Mr. Adams, the yeas and nays were
ordered.
The question being then taken upon the amendment
by veas and nays, it was agreed to—yeas 23, nays 21—
as follows:
Yeas—Messrs. Bell, Berrien, Bright, Cass, Dawson,
Downs, Fish, Foot, Gwm, Houston, James, Jones of
lowa, M mgum, .Miller, Norrfe, Pearce, Rusk, ipevard,
Shields, Smith, Spruance, Stockton, and Upham—23.
Nays—Messrs. Adams, Borland, Bradbury, Brooke,
Chase, Clemens, Dodge ot Wisconsin, Dodge of lowa,
Douglas, Felch, Geycr, Hamlin, Hunter, Jones of Ten
nessee, King, .Mason, Morton, Sebastian, Wade, Walk
er and Weller —21.
You will observe that the vote was a very mixed
one. The opposition of Douglas to it was unexpect
d. It has helped feint with Southern men.
Mr. Clay is sinking day by day. It was not suppos'd
that he could have survived so long. The greatest
sympathy and concern as to his state, is now evin
ced by his former adversaries. With his death,
snaps the last connecting link that has so long held
together the National Whig party —and when that
dies, the Democratic organization dies also. Th#
aspirations of Senator Jones, to succeed Mr. Clay,
as leader of the party, are very apparent; but lie
cannot fill the place of Old Harry, nor can any man
now. Crittenden probably wields more power at
this moment than any of the Whig leaders—and h
knows how to use it. The chief drawback to h:m,
is the acknowledged favoritism he displays in par
tition’ng out office among his near frien is and
kinsmen. Mr. Fillmore keeps cool, and watches
the gamo. He has gone ahead of Webster; but
Scott will certainly head both, unless something very
unexpected turns up to defeat all calculations and
opinions, derived from existing eauses. The bub
bling and boiling will continue until the Conventions
have named their man. ANON.
MEDICINAL USES OF THE WILD
CHERRY.
Ever since the settlement of Amcriea, Wild Cherry
has been known to possess very important medicinal
virtues. Every body know this fact, but nobody knew
how to extract its essential properties. Every mother
gives Wild Cherry tea to her children for worms, for
colds, and for almost every disease ; and adults through
out our country are in th© habit ot making a compound
of syrup of Wild Cherry bark and other ingredients, to
be used in spring as an antidote to complaints incident
to that changeful season. It is found by experiment that
the Wild Cherry possesses even far more important qual
ities than were ascribed to it. For the first stage of Con
sumption, Asthma, no matter how long standing, Cough?,
Liver Complaints, &c. it is proved to be the best rnedi
cine known to man. Dr. Wistar -s Balaam of W ji’
Cherry is a chemical extract, combined with ft similar
extract from Tar, which enhamos its value. Its suc
cess in curing pulmonary diseases, in almost every stage,
after our best physicians could do no more, has aston
ished the faculty, and led them to confess that \V istar K
Balsam of Wild Cherry possesses a principle heretofore
unknown among medical men irn'r-ni; „„
None genuine, unless signed I. Bui lo on tni
outside wrapper. . _ , . .
For sale, wholesale and retail, by the General Agent,
SETII w. FOWLE, 133 Washington street, Boston,
Mass., to whom all orders should he addressed.
Price, $1 per bottle—six bottles for five dollars.
I or sale b -^ ANFORTfI & NAGEL, Columbus.
Dr. R A WAR E ‘ .
ALSO—By Payne & Nisbet, Macon ;S. Ker.dncK,
Bamesville ; Bowdre & Woodson, Thomaston ; aud by
A gm e gGgM.y IBM- _
AYEII’S CHERRY PECTORAL.
We would call the attention of our readers to thi?
excellent medicine, with the satisfaction one feefe 1,1
praising a benefactor. Having been afflicted by the
rious effects of a cold seated on the lungs, and foun
relief and cure from its use, we can add our testimony
to the much already given to prove its singular macU *>
over disease. If any medicine before the comniumL
can be relied on to cure affections of tho throat m
lungs, it is Ayer’s Cherry federal-[Christian o*cr
r „. May TANARUS, 1332, J 9