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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL IB PUBLIBHBD EVER V THURSDAY MORNING, HY T. LOMAX 4, CO. TEXXENT LOMAX, Ho,™.. Office on Randolph street. Dte van) Department. Conducted by... CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. ! [WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR TUE SOUTHERN SENTINEL.] i HELL AND ROSE. BY CAROLINE LEK IIEXTZ. (CONCLUDED.) It was a bright blue, vernal morning, and when Bell found herself by Mr. Urvin in an elegant carriage, while Frank rode as a cav alier, in advance, she felt, whatever life had in store for her, there was joy, there was rap ture, in the present moment Mr. Urvin’s manner was so kind and tender, his conver- : sat ion so fascinating—how could she think of ; any thing else ? Then the air was so balmy j with the incense of opening flowers, 60 full j of the sweet music of singing waters and I warbling birds and rustling leaves, her young J heart, liberated from the restraint of daily dis- j topline, throbbed in unison with the great, ; glad heart of nature. The ride seemed all too short, when they stopped at a large white gate, in front of a handsome new house, built i in the cottage style, in the midst of a beauti ful green yard, shaded by acacia trees. Bell east an enquiring glance towards her com panion, who, smiiing at her bewildered ex pression, sprang from the carriage and as- j stated her to descend. “Our hostess stands at the door to wel come us,” said he. “Do you not recognize i her ?” Bell looked, hut the hostess was not stand ing in the door; she was running down the j steps to meet them, and Bell was sure, from her dress and manner, that they were expect- i ed guests. A glow, bright as the morning, j dawned on her face. She ushered them into a little parlor, newly and handsomely fur nished, containing nothing to remind one of the old room in the cabin, but the hour-glass, which now stood on the mantlepiece, and the boughs of the acacia trees, that shaded the ! windows. “Yon miss the old cabin,” said Bose, “do , you not? Yonder it is, in the back ground, j and there llannah presides, the happiest of human beings. Can you imagine what mo dern Aladdin has built this palace for our abode, leaving us almost without a wish, j certainly without a want ?” .She cast a grateful, Bell thought an ador- j ing, glance at Mr. Urvin, whose countenance j beamed with joy. Yes, the shelves of books j were there also, hanging on the wall. Frank, j who thought himself armed with sufficient : philosophy to think of Rose as a friend, felt ’ his panoply la! ling a wav from him, leaving him I unhehued, unshielded and weaponless, find- | ing it difficult to talk with ease, he turned to i the hook shelves, and pretended to be absor- j bed by their contents. Me took up his own j Shakespeare. He could not help perceiving j that every passage he had read and admired | was imuked, and as he opened the leaves, j rose petals, carefully pressed, dropped at his | feet. “'lake care!” said Rose, stooping to gath- ! er the faded blossoms. As she lifted her head, their eyes met w ith mutual embarrass- j meat, and as she dropped the rose leaves be j tween the page?, her hand, which accidentally j touched his, trembled. This did not seem ; like indifference. Frank looked involuutari- j lv at Mr. Urvin, exjK'cting to see a jealous* frown, hut on the contrary, he wore a ie j markablv benignant expression, though he w as gazing on them. “He does not seem to he jealous,” thought Frank. “I’ll try bint a little more. I’ll ask her to go to the spring, and drink perchance the last pure draught of happiness that w ill ever refresh my thirsty spoil.” The serene expression of Mr. Urvin’?, countenance uid not change, as they passed out together, unless it beamed with greater satisfaction. Bel! was vexed w ith herself at the embarrassment she experienced, on find ing herself alone with Mr Urvin. She thought it hardly polite in Rose to leave her, and wondered if Rose would have been pleased, if she had gone with Mr. Urvin in the same manner. “How very lovely Rose is!” said she, fol lowing with her eyes, her retreating figure. “I thought her merely pretty when I first saw her—now, sho is really beautiful.” “She is lovely, and what is more, she is good and true,” replied Mr. Urvin. “She is ■worthy of the heart she has won.” “I believe so. 1 have always thought, al ways said so,” cried Bell, speaking with warmth, though cold shivers crept through her frame “1 congratulate you on the treas ure you have gained. 1 hope—l trust ” £he thought she would make an eloquent speech, hut her voice grew husky, then falter ed and died away. Ashamed of her emo tion, and terrified at the construction he might put upon it, she rose precipitately to leave the room, when he intercepted her flight. “IV hy do you congratulate me /” he cried, taking her hand and leading Fier back to her seat, while a triumphant smile played upon ..is lips. “Look at me, Bell, read the lan guage ot my countenance truly and honestly, and then, if you have faith in my integrity, tell me if you believe that 1 love Rose Mayfield; that it is of my own heart 1 was speaking; that 1 have even iu thought, ever rivalled your brother ?” Bell looked up one moment—tbq next, her head was bowed, and her cheeks, forehead Hi?d neck, were suffused with crimson. Even VOL 111. the hand which he held, caught a roseate ■ tinge, from the sun-burst of happiness that illumined her heart. “I have never intended to trifle with your feelings, Bell,” added he, after a pause of deep emotion, for he actually trembled to perceive the extent of Ins ow n overmastering influence. “I have withheld the expression of my own, in spite of almost irresistible temptations, while adversity has been testing and time confirming your long latent virtues. Even from the fiist, 1 was charmed by your beauty, and fascinated by the strange min gling of nrtlessness and affectation, of sim plicity and coquetry, visible in your charac ter. But I have passed the heyday of youth ful romance, and could not choose as the | wife of my bosom, a mere daughter of sash- j ion, a devotee of the world. I resisted the spell, though l still kept within the sphere of the enchantress. It was not till your sudden reverse of fortune, that l knew the extent of my infatuation. Ah! little did you imagine, when 1 coldly counselled, and cautiously di- j vected your course of action, urging you with the sternness of a stoic, to gird yourself for tlie battle of life, without offering to guard you in the day of conflict, how I lon ged to fold you in my protecting arms, and make my bosom your shield in danger, your ; pillow in peace. But I saw that tied had ta ken you liy tiie hand, to lead you through j the refiner’s fire, and I followed His steps, trembling, lest you should sink in the flames kindled to purify your soul. Many a time ; have 1 been tempted to speak and shorten your day of trial, but so nobly, so heroically did you bear yourself, it seemed sacrilege to wish to turn you in a different path, though the one you were treading might he strewed with thorns. Bell, lam no young, boyish ; wooer, r.ning of love and rapture. I am a man, much older than yourself, and made ! of far sterner materials; hut such as 1 am, I love you, with a love, strong, and deep, am! boundless, and enduring.” It is doubtful whether anv one ever felt happier than Bell, while listening to thisman- Iv avowal of i! she ever wished to inspire. But the fervor of ins manner was so chasten- 1 ed by solemnity, so subdued by tenderness, that she wept, even while her heart was aching front the oppression of its joy—we should rather say, because of that strange fullness and oppression. In the meantime Frank and Rose stood by the spring, shaded by the prettiest little arbor in the world. “Rose!” exclaimed Frank, with till the straight forwardness and impetuosity of his nature, “only tell me one thing. Don’t trifle with me. Don’t keep me in suspense —for t cannot bear it. Are you going to marry .Mr. Urvin?” “Certainly not, unless he asks me,” she replied, with a provoking smile, “but tell me by what right you presume to ask me such unwarrantable questions ?” When seeing the tragic expression of his countenance, she ad ded, with a gentle, earnest gravity — “I love Mr. Urvin as my elder brother, es teem him as my best friend, and revere him as my generous, my noble benefactor. He regards me with a kind of parental interest, as the adopted child of his sister, whom he most dearly loved. You see what he has done for my father. This beautiful cottage, with all the comforts and luxuries it contains, he presented to me, that my father might ro- I ecive as my gift, what he wool ! not accept from another hand. I should be the most ungrateful of human beings, it l did not revere him next to my God. But as for love ” She paused, smiled, and stooping down, scooped some of the gushing water in the hollow of her hand, and scattered it iu dia monds over his head. This playful, graceful act did more to put ■ Frank at his ease, than a multitude of words j cou’d do. “One question more,” cried he, embolden led by lie: gayety. “Could you, do you, will you, love such a poor, good-for-nothing fel low as myself? A little while ago 1 could have laid a fortune at your feet—now I am poor. 1 dare not ask you to share my pov erty, but if you could only love me one mil ! liontli part as much as I love you, I should ; be inspired to do the work of a thousand gi i ants. 1 would be a second Midas, and trans mute every thing into gold, by the divine al chemy of love. 1 would wait and serve like another Jacob, thinking the days hours, and the hours minutes, for the exceeding love I ; hear you.” “But, supposing, as we are both poor, we j should labor hand in hand, and not wait as | long as Jacob did!” cried Rose, with a most j beautiful blush. “Do you say that, Rose?” exclaimed j Frank. “Heaven bless you, Rose. I don’t | deserve—l can hardly bear so much hap- J piness.” I In the ecstacy f his joy, he was about to throw his arms around her, when a fresh shower of diamonds sparkled in his face and Winded his eyes. ... “If you would have peace, there must “ space between us,” said she, langhing at’ twinkling of his eyes, as he shook the bngSfc drops from his hair. “Come, let us go back to the bouse. It is rude in roe to leave your j sister so long.” i “Tell me first, if l must be a farmer, | Rose.” “What are you now?” “A lawyer by profession, a clerk by ne cessity.” “Y’ou had better consult Mr. Urrin.” “But,” exclaimed Frank suddenly, with a clouded countenance, “I forgot one thing— you are rich—you are an heiress. Mr. Ur vrn said he intended to settle half his fortune ; on you. I desire no fortune. I would not ; accept it, if it were offered. lam richer now than my hopes, as affluent as my wishes. I j am only poor in words to speak my heart’s j immeasurable content.” And she yielded her hand with charming grace to Frank, whose usually merry eyes ac tually glistened as he received it. Does any one care to hear how well Far mer Mayfield looked, in his Sunday clothes, ((residing at the dinner table, and carving the j roasted turkey with his strong, brown hands? j What delicious curds and cream were served by the fair hands of Rose, and what happy faces shone around that simple, hospitable hoard ? Perhaps the farmer did most of the eating himself, as labor creates appetite and sentiment destroys it, but no one cares for that. Does any one care to know how Mrs. Raymond became reconciled to the marriage of her son with the farmer’s daughter ? and how she exulted in securing, at last, the rich and distinguished Mr. Urvin as her sou-in law? There is something so repulsive in her character, we would rather say nothing more about her, regretting that the paradise of Bell’s happy homo should be marred by so ungeuiul an inmate. Mr. Urvin, with a delicacy only equalled bv his munificence, settled the fortune on Frank tie had intended for Rose, liyis ena bling him to return to the profession for which nature had most eminently qualified him. There is one circumstance connected with Mrs. R aymond which we forgot to mention, or we would not refer to her again. Every Sunday, Mr. Urvin invited Farmer Mayfield to dine with him, and had lie been the Chief Magistrate of the land, he could not have treated him with more respectful atten tion. On this day, Frank and Rose were al so regularly invited guests. It was a happy family meeting, but the farmer’s presence al ways gave Mrs. Raymond a sick headache, and she was generally obliged to keep her room, and this necessity never seemed to damp the spirits of the household. Poor Mrs. Raymond ! A PATRIARCH-INTRODUCTION OF THE COTTON GIN. ‘ The following highly interesting commu nication from the Hon. Garnett Andrews, to the Southern Cultivator, presents some facts : connected with the early history of the cot j ton gin in Georgia, that cannot fail to he ’ entertaining: i Messrs. E ditors —Cotton having become j of such vast importance, not only to the pro ducers, hut to the world, every thing relating to its history is of interest. Therefore, I am induced to g’ve a little information l lately : obtained ol the great staple, j i rode, a few days since, six miles below i this place, to see my old friend, Thos. Talbot, j and his kitchen and barn. Mr. Talbot is eighty-three years old, in full possession of his faculties, and is living where he settled j sixty-two years ago. Whitnev, the inventor of the cotton gin, settled a plantation adjoin ing him, on which he placed one of his gins, the first that was ever used in Wilkes county ; perhaps the first in the State. He and his * partner, Durkee, erected a gin house and a large cotton house—the latter to hold the I cotton they expected to receive from eusfo mers to gin. The gin house was grated, so that visitors might look through and see the cotton flying from, without seeing the gin. He suffered women to go into thegin house to | see the machinery, not apprehending that ; they could betray his secret to builders. Ly on, who lived some eight or ten miles above | this place, by dressing himself in women’s clothes, procured admittance, and came out and made his improvement, the saw gin.— Mr. Talbot says that Billy McFerran, a little Irish blacksmith, who died a few years ago i in this county, made the saws, the first that ever were made. Durkee, Whitney's partner, i being dissipated and inattentive to business, ; he sold out his place, and the gin and cot -1 ton house coming into the possession ot Mr. i Talbot, he moved them to this place. The former is now his kitchen, and still lias its long grated windows, as in the time of Whit ney. The cotton house makes a large and j commodious barn. Mr. Talbot says that Al i lison, or Ellison, who had been connected 1 with Whitney in business, told him that the | latter got his first idea of the invention from a gin used to prepare rags for making paper, and which he saw on a wrecked vessel. | On the place sold by Whitney was erect -1 ed, in 1811, a cotton factory, and, I presume, the first in the State. The prime mover in the enterprise was a Mr. Bolton, of Savan nah, a lerchnnt, who spent his summers, j tefetyin Washington. Mr. Talbot had four fjactory had one hundred and cost 81700, and made fifty tyardAfff cloth a day, which sold from fifty cents to one dollar per yard. The weaving was done hy hand-loom weavers, who were obtained from Long Cane, in South Caroli na. The factory proved an unprofitable affair. ; In this connection, it may be interesting to i say, that daring the war of 18)2, eotton j was hauled from this country to Haltimore ! and Philadelphia, and the wagons loaded COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 28, 1852. back again with goods. Wagoners are now living in the country who used to drive the teams engaged in this service. 1 cannot close this communication without a word about my aged and highly respecta ble friend, in his character of planter. Some of the land now in cultivation by Mr. Talbot, was old when three-fourths of Georgia was • iu possession of the Indians. Originally o! a strong soil, as Wilkes county generally was, Mr. ‘Talbot, by paying some attention to improvement, has not only preserved, but j much improved some of his old lands. But : that to which 1 wish particularly to direct at tention, is his regret that he had not commen ced hili-side ditching long ago, before the creeks and branches had carried off the best of his soil. The walnut, locust and other shade trees in his yard, planted with his own hands, have the appearance of aged trees, j rlis servants, some as old or older than him self, with the gent rations of children, grand I children, and 1 do not know how far to go in the great-grand-children, give to the white headed citizen the appearance of a patriarch !at the head of his tribe. He has had born on his place one hundred and nine children, but has kept no record of deaths. GARNETT ANDREWS. Washington, Ga., Aug., 1852. SNEEZING. One of the old French histories, in allu ding to the tremendous influenza of the be ginning of the seventh century, says that there has been referred to it the familiar usage of offering good wishes to those who j sneeze. It is said, he says, that in the days <*>f Gregory VII., those who had the misfor ■ tune to sneeze, immediately died. This gave occasion to the religious Pontiff to order for the faithful certain prayers accompanied by good wishes to turn away these dangerous effects from the corruption of the air. This is a fable, adds the author ; for we arc assu red that the custom is older m all parts of the known world. It is well known to my thological students that the first signs of life, which the man made by Prometheus •rave, was a sneeze. Prometheus had stolen j D ‘ i a part of the rays of the sun, and filled with I them a vessel made expressly for the purpose, 1 which lie sealed hermetically He then re turned at once to his favorite statue, and pre sented to it his bottle opened. It may be im agined that the odor of the bottled sun beams proved somewhat pungent; the rays | had lot some of their activity; they insinu ated themselves into the pores of the statue and made it sneeze. Prometheus, charmed with his success, made a prayer, and offer ed vows for the preservation of this singular being. Ilis pupil heard him ;he remember ed him, and took great care on similar occa sions to make the application of these vows to his descendants, who, from father to son, have preserved the memory of them from generation to generation. And at this day the custom holds in all countries of th e world. The Rabbins, speaking of this usage, do not give to it the same antiquity. They say that after the creation, God made a general law that every living man should only sneeze once, and that in the same instant he should surrender his soul to God, without any pre vious sickness. Jacob, who was dissatisfied with this brusque way of going out of the world, and wished an opportunity to set his I affairs in order before he died, bowed himself before the Lord, wrestled with him again, and begged he might be excepted from this rule. His prayer was granted ; he sneezed and did not die. All the princes of the world being informed oi this fact, ordered teat for the fu ture, sneezing should be accompanied with prayer and vows for the preservation and prolongation of life. T he tradition was very ancient in the timw of Aristotle, who did not know the origin of it and sought to explain it in his Problems. He pretends that the first men conceived very ; elevated ideas about the head, which is the principal seat of the mind, and that they carried their reverence even to respect for the sneeze, which is one of the most manifest and sen sible operations of the head. The formulas of blessing used by the Romans and Greeks on occasions of sneezes, were : “May Ju piter preserve you,” or simply “Health,” or “May you be well.” Telling Faults Did any body ever hear the story of two bachelor brothers, ! down in Tennessee, who had lived a cat-and dog sort of life, to their own and the neigh borhood’s discomfort, for a good many years, but now, having been at a camp meeting, were slightly “convicted,” and concluded to | reform ? “Brother Tom,” says one, when they had ! arrived at their home, “let us sit down and I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You tell me of all my faults and I’ll tell you of yourn, and so we’ll know how to go about mending of ’em ” “Good !” says brother Tom. “Well,yon begin.” “No, you begin, brother Joe.” “Well—in the first place, you know, broth- I er Tom, you will lie.” i Crack! goes brother Tom’s “paw” be tween brother Joe’s “blinkers,” and consid | erable of a “scrimmage” ensues, until, in the course of ten minutes, neither s able to • “come np to time,” and the reformation i3 postponed sine die.—-V, TANARUS, Spirit of the Titles HAPPINESS AND PLEASURE. Between happiness and pleasure there is a great and material difference, yet how often is one mistaken for the other! The man who pursues pleasure in the hope ot obtaining happiness, will find at last that he has but followed a phantom, and instead of landing safe upon its shore, will be wrecked upon the rock of disappointment. To follow one for the possession of the other is a great er ror, for we are affected bv them in a totally different manner, and to a certain degree, they have nothing in common. Pleasure, like a bird, is ever on the wing ; j it is like a flash of lightning breaking through a cloud and glittering only for a moment; j and also bears a resemblance to a gentle j flower, which perishes almost in the gather- j mg. It has a tendency to enervate the mind, j and generally leaves an unfilled space in the ! heart, while it renders most interesting ob jects insipid, and when it departs, we sigh with grief and remember it with regret. We are all capable of feeling the sensa tions of pleasure, and can always trace them to the source from whence they originate; in fact, pleasure is superficial, and is shed upon us like an artificial heat, which, because it is not natural, soon leaves us. The cause of it is not \\ ithin ourselves, hut depends alto gether upon circumstances, and thus it is that the soul of man is not capable of receiv ing lasting impressions of pleasure. Happiness, on the contrary, is possessed of an entirely different attribute —it is last ing and shines equally upon all; it fills the ■ human mind with pure and lofty feelings, and invests every object with a robe ot light : and gladness, while at the same time it gen- C .1 . . . crates warmth, which we enjoy as it it were communicated to us. Happiness is closely allied with content ment, for one cannot exist without the pres ence of the other, and blessed are they who feel the holy influence of that virtue. It i fjiiclis ail murmurs, extinguishes all repinings, : and destroys all ingratitude towards tiie Au thor of our being. It gives sweetness to our dispositions, serenity to our thoughts, aml causes us to have a God-like love for all the world. Happiness is not, like pleasure, dependent ; upon circumstances for its existence, for it is the manner of feeling which constitutes it, j and the)’ will never feel the want ot iiappi- I ness who have a consciousness of their own rectitude of conduct. W e may be blessed i with worldly advantages, yet, without a pure i conscience. s| nd conte ited mind, we would fail to experience the joys which flow from that heaven-born treasure, happiness ; and, therefore, it becomes us all to ’Cultivate a “good conscience,” that we may be able to taste tiie bliss of a contented mind. THE DIGNITY OF LABOR. I It is an indication oi littleness in any mind to be ashamed of work. It is to deny i the law of nature, for it is a universal man ! date, written in the necessity of things, that “iu the sweat of thy face” is every thing great or valuable to be accomplished. The human frame or genius has never yet dawned j upon the world that could despise labor, and not be an outlaw against nature. We look 1 as in vain, to w itness the accomplishment of anything without the application of mental or physical effort. YV here are the monu ments of creative idleness ? YV hen are the | triumphs of genius everlastingly at rest ? They are not to he found in the past. His tory makes no record of them. They are not : among the wonders of the present. The universe is void of all trace of them, for they are not, and have not been. All that digni fies history, or makes the present glorious, i has been the result of this same law of work. 1 What has not labor done? In fact, nothing has been done without it. It has bnilded our cities, floated our navies, led our armies and governed the nation. It has stored the mind I of the student, penned the inspiration of the I poet, struck eloquence from the mute marble, | given history an unforgetting memory, and thrown the hues and speaking lines of life i upon an inanimate canvas. All this and more has labor done. It lias beautified life and made it tolerable. Without work, existence were a dull, monotonous prolongation of days, with nought to mark the lapse of time hut the rising and setting of suns. Who covets , the barren file of full ease, that has no manly struggles, no doubtful battlefields, no gene rous thrills ? Rather than be doomed to such a Dead Sea fate, we would be thrown upon the billows of an eternal conflict, to alter nate forever between triumph and defeat.— They whose lot is a life of toil, in their mad ness often sigh for the repose and careless indulgence of the opulent children of Mam mon. But little do they think of the days vacant of incident, and the nights burdened with sleep, and the ceaseless return of the forms misnamed of pleasure. And too light ly do they estimate the luxury of genuine impulse, the consciousness of mighty passion, awaking to the sublimity of life, and the proud and satisfying repose, that | comes with the final triumph over tempora ry ills. We have said that there is a dignity in la bor. Every one has felt it, who has lent him self earnestly to work. He has felt that his | virtue was safest, when he had thrown about it the safeguard of honest, unwavering occu pation. These are the moments of his most i conscious pride, 1 Ti Ha a nari fn inwil. cate the love of labor, the esteem of its re wards and the supremacy of its law. Were its true dignity appreciated, men would seek to make their children gentlemen by making them workers, rather than by putting money j into their purses. If idleness be an evil, then j is the father’s blessing too often his bitterest curse. Labor is not onerous, when performed i with an appreciation of its true nature. It ! then becomes dignified and'honorable, eievu- I ting man to his true position among the cre ations of Omniscience. Neglecting this law of his being, he becomes an idler in a uni- j verse of activity and energy. lie sleeps, till the crisis of a great destiny is passed. He sells his birth-right for a day of inglorious ease. He dolls the priestly garment of Na ture, and puts on, in its stead, the beggarly rags of an outcast and a vagabond. TIIE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. The principal item of news by the Canada, : which arrived last week, is the death of the j “Iron Duke,” which took place on the 14th | ult., at Walmer Castle, after a succession of i fits. The London Times of the 15th, a copy of which is lying before us, devotes no less than twenty-three columns to a recapitulation of the history of the great captain of the age, who, with not a spark of romantic heroism in his composition, with not a drop of sympathy with the masses of the people, “rose by a ra pid series of achievements, which none had surpassed, to a position which no other man in the nation ever enjoyed.” In the estima tion of the Times, “clearness of discernment, j correctness of judgment, and rectitude in ac tion, were, without doubt, the principal ele ments of the Duke’s brilliant achievements in war, and of his vast authority in the councils of his country, as well as hi the conferences of Europe.” The Times concludes a long and eloquent | tribute to the distinguished dead with the fol lowing words : I r “When men in after times shall look back to the annals of England for examples of en- I ergv and public virtue among those who have raised this country to her station on the eaith, no name will remain more conspicuous or ; more unsullied than that of Arthur Wellesley, ; the great Duke of Wellington. The actions i of his life were extraordinary, but iris charac ter was equal to his actions, lie was the ve ry type and model of an Englishman; and | though men are prone to invest the worthies | of former ages with a dignity and merit they 1 commonly withhold from their contempora ries, we can select none from tire long array j of our captains and nobles, who, taken for i all in all, can claim a rivalry with him who is gone from amongst us, an inheritor of imper ishable fame.” 1 THE DOUBLE SIGHTED YOUTH. A correspondent Q.f the New York Her ald, describing the varied? notabilities on ; board the steamer Arctic, make, ’*>& follow | ihg mention of a mysterious yontti } who must beat the spiritual rappers all hollow/# the description be correct: “The last, but by no means least, in the array of professionals on board, is Mr. Er nest Heller, known more familiarly through out Europe a3 “The Mysterious Double sighted Youth.” His performance of what i* called the “second sight” is the most wonder j I’ul and incomprehensible affair extant, of which we had several opportunities of judging ; during the trip. He will allow himself to he i blindfolded and placed at one end of the room | and his companion, a cousin or a brother, 1 believe, will go round and collect articles from the audience, and on the youth’s being 1 asked, he will describe the articles tendered for ; description—coins, rings, seals, crests, bills, i cards, letters, signatures, notes, gloves, handkerchiefs, and in short, the most unlook ; ed for curiosities, were handed out and cor ! rectiv described. All sorts of conjectures ! were, of course, on tiptoe as to bis powers of discrimination, but all failed to come at ! even a shadow of certainty on the subject. It is said to be animal magnetism. If so, it is certainly the clearest illustration yet seen, and will go far to show the fallacy of the spiritual rapping doctrine. One of the passengers, Mr. A. T. Stewart, thought he could puzzle the youth, and very quietly showed his brother a letter he had received ! from a house in England the day he sailed, i and asked if Ernest could tell who wrote it. “Oh, certainly,” was the reply, “ask him yourself,” which was no sooner done than | replied to, and the name in full given, to the utter astonishment of our friend Stewart, of Broad way celebrity. This novel entertain ment will contrast well with the great events of this miracle-working age. From the Spirit World. —The follow ing is reported as a true message from a cer | tain individual now in the “Spirit World,” as | we have been told: Rapper. John Jones! Spirit of John answers bv two raps. Rapper. Are you happy? Spirit. Yes, in all but one thing. Rapper. What is that ? | Spirit. I left the world without calling on he Printer, as I promised. Oh, if I could hut return to the earth, I would do Rapper. Do what? Spirit. Call on the poor Printer and pay him them four dollars; but it’s too late. Rapper. No; send a message to your j once fond dear wife to pay it for you, and i then vcu will ba happy i• • * TERMS OF PUBLICATION. One Copy, per annum, if paid in advance,. ..$2 00 “ “ “ “ “ ia six mor.tr s, 250 “ “ “ •* “ at end of year, 300 RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square, first insertion, - - - - - $1 00 “ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal deduction made in iavor of those wh* advertise largely. NO. 44. Spirit. Yes, yes, tell her if she wishes me to enjoy eternal happiness, to go at onco and discharge that debt, and everlasting bliss is mine. Rapper. I will do as you bid me. A messenger is dispatched to the widow, informing her of the sufferings of the spirit of her late husband on account of not mak ing peace with the Printer. She answers that she wili go at once, pay the man of types, and ask him his forgiveness for her poor dear. Rapper. I sent a message as you bid me to your wife, arid she is, ere tiiis, on her way to the friend you had forgotten whilst on earth. Spirit. O, joy unspeakable! Rapper. She has seen the Printer and paid him. Spirit. Happy! happy!! am I!!! THE ANCIENT CITY OF ANTIOCH. Bayard Taylor thus describes this renowned town of ancient times: On reaching a height overlooking the valley of the river Oroides, we saw in the east, at the foot of the moun tain chain, the long lines of barracks built by Ibrahim Pasha for the defense of Antioch. Behind them the ancient wall of the city clornb the mountains, whose crest it followed to the last peak of the chain. From the next hill we saw the city—a large extent of one story houses with tiled roofs, surrounded with gardens and half buried in the foliage of syca mores. It extends from the river Oroides, which washes its wails, up the slope of the mountain and the crags of gray rock which overhang it. We crossed the liver by a mas sive old bridge and entered the town. Riding along the rills of filth which traverse the streets, forming their central avenues, we passed through several lines of bazaars to a large and dreary looking khan, the keeper of which gave us the best vacant chamber—a narrow place, full of fleas. Antioch presents not even a shadow of its former splendor. Except the great walls, ten to fifteen miles ia circuit, which the Turks have done their best to destroy, every vestige of the old city has disappeared. The houses are all of one story, on account of earthquakes, from which Antioch has suffered more than any other city in the w orld. At one time, during the Middle Ages, it iost 120.000 inhabitants in one day. Its situation is magnificent, and the modern town, notwithstanding its filth, wears a bright and busy aspect. Situated at the base of a lofty mountain, it overlooks towards the east, J a plain thirty or forty miles in length, with a lake in the centre, and producing the most abundant harvests. A great, number of the inhabitants are workers in wood and leather, and very thrifty and cheerful people they ap pear to be.— Correspondence of the Tribune, \ WELLINGTON AND NAPOLEON. It has been said that the Duke of Welling ton never wrote a dispatch in which the word Duty did not occur, and that Napoleon never wrote a dispatch to which the word Glory was wanting. That is the difference be twwfetthe two men, and the two countries to which they belong’ and. was that moral superiority that .JDnde Wellington the final victor. Asa mere genera); the Duke of Wel lington was immeasurably tuft, inferior of Napoleon. Napoleon displayed tho ’fS&Tt.v j genius in any one campaign, than Welling- 5 ton did in his whole life ; but the dogged man of Duty triumphed at length over the brilliant man of Glory ; so it was in the be ginning, is now, and ever shall be. The Frenchman may laugh at the stolidity and stupidity of the Englishman, but so long as the one race is capable of believing in the au gust and commanding nature of Duty, and the other race i.s not, England's supremacy will be maintained. For every Napoleon produced by France, Britain will always be able to find a Wellington. Imagine the two generals, Wellington and Napoleon, changing armies. What fish out <f water they would both have been ! Those * flaming Napoleonic bulletins and harangues that used to set the French army all a-blazo with enthusiasm, would have simply been laughed at by the English soldier. Nor could the solid English have executed those bril liant aspirations of Napoleon, by which a forced inarch of a few weeks sometimes made a whole campaign his own. Welling ton, on the other hand, could have done noth ing with a French army. It would have rid iculed his caution and bluntuess of speech, sunk under his discipline, and run away from every foe. A Frenchman can no more fight than a balloon can ascend without inflation, and Napoleon wa3 the man that knew ex actly how, when and where to adjust the bel lows. An English, a Gorman, or an Amer ican army must respect its leader, or its affairs will go ill.— Horne Journal. That Fikk in the Rear.—John Van Buren, in his speech at Newburgh, N. York, among other things, said that after November next, Gen. Scott would be delivered from all apprehension of a “fire in tiie rear,” which had been the nightmare of his life—because then be would be so far behind, that there wouid be nobody behind to fire at him. f sdj~ The pavements are pretty slippery af ter a thaw and a freeze, but not half so slip pery as a five dollar bill in a printing office. OCT “Pa, ain’t I growing tall?” what’s your height, sonny ?” “I’tu seven f#et lacking a yard 1”