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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL IS PUBLISIiKD EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, HY T. LOMAX & CO. TENXKNT LOMAX, Pkjcipal editor. OTic.e <rn Randolph street. Citeranj Depart wait. CrtXDUCTED by CAROLINE LEE HBNTZ. THE DIES IR.K. Thp following beautiful Hrmn, composed by Thom as of ’ Vlana, a friend and early follower of Saint Fran cis of Assisi, ha ; been admired through four centuries. A classical scholar and contributor to our columns bus furnished us with a beautiful paraphrase, which breather in every line the piou3 spirit of the original, and will enable our unlearned leaders to appreciate, the excel lence of the original composition. We also append a literal prose tran lation: T. L. 1. I 10. Dies ir®, dies ilia, ‘Qua:tens me seiisti lapsus, Solve’ ras'luii) inbavilla, Knfimhti crucem passus, Teste David coin SyhiMa. ‘Tantus labor non titca-rus! 2 11 Quanta* tremor est futuru®, |Jnste Judex nationis, Qurmdo Judex est senturus,--Donum sac reinisdonis, Curieta -triete discus*, urus. Ante diem rationis. 3. 12. Tub* mirum spargens so .Ingnmiseo tanauam reus, nail), jCuipa nibrt vuftus mens ; Per sepuichra regkmum, Supplieanti puree, Deua! Coget oinnes ante thronum 13. 4. Qui Mariam abso!vi.-ti, .Morsstupebitet Natura, Lit lationeiii exaitdi ti, Cfim resit:cfoatura, j Milii q laque sfiern dedi.-ti. Judicanti responsura. 14. 5. Pieces mea non sunt dignse, J.iftcr scriptus proferetur, .'cd tn bonus sac beniguc, ?ri quo totum conti iciur, Me perenni cremer igue! Unde mundua judicetur. | lb 6 Inter oves locutn pvesta, Judex ergo cum sedehit, ht ah hfeuD inc sequestra, Quidqiiul latel apparebit, Statuciis in p-nte dextra. bill inukuni remanebit. ]6. 7. Confutati* malcdictis Quid sum tune dicta- Flummis acribus addicti*, rus, Voca me cum benedictis. Queui patronum roraturus. 17 Cum vix justus sit securus? Oro supplex et acelinis, 8. Cor contrituin q-asi einis tvex Iremend* maje-tatis (fore curam met finis. fQiii salvandoa eaives gratis, : 48. C*aSve im. fens piotatis! Lachrymo-a dies ilia S. Qua sxatmftct ex favilla Recorda r e, Jcsa pie, .btdiraid as homo reus, Quoil sum eau-a tua? vim, Huiecrga parce, Deus! • No nte perdas ilia die! The Day of Wrath. 1. The day of wrath, the great avenging day, Shall earth’s proud glories ail in ashes lay ; With this dread theme, the choid- of David rung, And Sybil bards in thrilling numbers sung. 2. What horrors dire shall every bosom shake! With (ear anil trembling, guilty souls shall quake; When the great Judge ascend.- his awful throne And makes each thought, and word, and action, known. 3. The solemn trump shall peal a thundering sound, Ami wake the nations slumbering ’neath the ground : Shall summon all the universe, to meet, In dread array, before the judgment seat. 4. Now startled Nature shrinks in wild dismay ! Death reels in terror at the grand di-play, Os pallid nations bursting from the tomb, To meet their Maker, and to judgment come! 5. Behold the awful volume now display’d— ’ There, every word and action stands array’d— Pregnant with bliss, or burning wrath to men, Inscrib’d by God’s own strict, unerring pen. 6. When the great Judge ascends his awful seat, And men before that dread tribunal meet, All secret schemes shall public, then, appear, Nor evil counsels pass unpunish’d there. Upon that day of wrath, that baleful day, W hen God shall speak, what shall I, wretched, say ? On what kind saint shall I, for succor, call, When scarce the righteous ’scape the dreadful fall ? 8. King of tremendous majesty, to Thee, Who.-e mercy is so boundless, rich and free, To Thee 1 come, thou Fount of holiness, Oh ! save me, by thine all sufficient grace! O, blessed Jesus, mark me from orj high. For whom thou, here, didst groan and bleed and die ; | And on that dnv, that great avenging day, When Thou slialt come, oh! cast me no! away. 10. Weary with searching, faint with toil extreme, Thou didst my soul upon the cross redeem, Endur’d a lite of grief, a death of pain: Shall labor, such as this, be spent in vain 1 ’ 11. Most high and holy Judge of all mankind, Incline thine ear and grant that I may find. Remission of my sins, a conscience clear, Before the day of reckoning shall appear. 32. In sighs and groanings, 1 bewail my state, A guilty culprit, I, before Thee, wait; ‘The blush of shame spreads o’er iny burning brow. Spare, God of mercy, spare thy suppliant now! 13. Thou who to Marv didst afford relief, And cheer the prospects of the dying thief With promise of a home in Paradise, Hast bid me hope lor man-. -*.s in the skies. 14. Feebie am I, unworthy is my prayer, But Thou, good Lord,grant iwThv lovejo share .My soul secure, before the day of ire, ]Lest .1 be burned with everlasting fire! 15. .And when before the great white throne 1 stand, (Grant me a station b’nvt, at Thy right hand ; Among the sheep, a sharer of Thy grace, ‘Nor, at Thy left, assign to me a place. 16. ’When Thou the dreadful sentence shalt proclaim, “Depart ye cursed into quenchless flame,” Oh ! let me not in that daik throng Ire found, ‘But, with the blessed, hear the welcome sound! 17. I fall a suppliant, prostrate at Thy feet, And for a lowly, contrite heart entreat; O! when my end .'hall come—tire hour of death— Be thou the solace of my latest breath. IS. O mournful day, day of the greai assize, Which. fr< •m the ashes of the world, shall rise! For judgment, then, shall stand a guilty race, Spare them, O God, and save them by Thy grace. Prose Translation. (Literal.) 1- The day of wrath, that day, shall dissolve the world in ashes, David being witness with the Sybil. 2. W hat great terror shall there be, when the Judge shall take his seat and strictly investigate all things! y 3. The trumpet sendu forth a wonderful sound, through the sepulchres of the world, shall summon all before His throne. 4. Death and Nature shall stand amazed, when fhs creature, rismg from the grave, shall answer to bis Judge. The written book shall be brought out, in which t* contained every thing . a which the world is to be judged. 6. When, therefore, the Judge shall take his seat* whatever now is hidden shall be laid open, and nodiing eiiaj* reniLiu unpunished* VOL. IV. 7. What shall TANARUS, wretched, then say? On what pat ron saint shall I call, when scarcely the righteous shall be secure ? 8. King of tremendous majesty, thou who freely sa vest those who are to be saved, save me, thou Fount of holine-s! 9. Remember, holy Jesus, that I am the cause of thy wav,(i.e. it was forme that thoa didst become “a man ol sorrows,’’) and lose me not, or destroy me not, in that day. 10. Seeking nte, thou sattest down fainting, weary; thou suffering the cross didst redeem me. Such great laoor cannot be unavailing! 11. Just Judge of our deeds, do thou grant me pardon of my euis (the gift of remission) before the day of reck oning. 12. I groan as one accursed, my face turns red at my crime ; spare him, O God, who supplicates Thy mercy -13. riiou who didst forgive Mary, and hear the prayer of the (penitent) thief, ha t also given me hope. 14. My prayers are unworthy (of thy notice,) but do thou, good Lord,do kindly, uor burn me with endless lire. 15. Among the sheep, grant me a place, and have me separate from the goat-, standing on thy right hand. 16. When the cursed are confuted and consigned to burning flames, O call ine with the blessed. 17. Prostrate and suppliant', 1 implore Thee for a heart contrite as - ashes. Be my support in death. 1A Thata woeful day which diall arise from aches. A guilty race is to be. judged. Spare them, 0 God. [ WRi3TEX FOR THE SEXTINEL. 1 THE DYING SAGE 0E MARSHFIELD. A few weeks since, there appeared an ex tracted article in the Sentinel, entitled the “Death-beu of Webster.” It was eloquently written, and calculated to make a deep im pression on the mind ol the reader; but the -pint which it breathed was certainly want ing in that divine charity whigli thinketh no evil, “which hopeth all tilings, and believeth ail things.” Sad indeed is the penalty that man pays for greatness. Every action of his life is rep resented ace *: ‘ling to the medium through which it is beheld, whether distorted bv pre judice, darkened by blind zeal, or colored by the burnin * hues of passion. Nor is this all. Even the death-chamber, that sanctuary usu ally sacral to love and affection, is exposed to the cold scrutiny of the partisan, and the last glance of the dying eye, the last words of the expiring lips, treasures doubly precious by the solemn consecration of death, are made the property of the public, the theme of a nation’s tongue. Not as the illustrious politician, the mighty statesman, does the wi i-er of that article con template Daniel Webster, but as the dying man. Far differently has the sublime scene, so lately enacted in the homestead of Marsh field, impressed the minds of others. There was awe, there was g aideur there, hut not dread. There was resignation, there was tranquility, but not fear, it was not a battle field, where the recovering spirit strove and grappled with the dark-victor power, in the strength of despair, but a peaceful tent, where the weary warrior folded “the drapery of his couch about him,” and laid himself down to everlasting rest. “What,” said he to those gathered around him, “what would be the condition of any of us. without the hope of immortality ?” “Mv general wish on earth,” uttered the expiring sage, “lias been to do my Ma ker’s will. 1 thunk him. { thank him for the means of doing some little good for these be loved objects, for the blessings that surround me, for my nature and associations. I thank Him that I am to die mid *r m many circum stances of love and affection.” Is this the language of a man shrouded by doubts, darkened by fear, and wrestling with at) unknown and dreaded future ? Is it not rather the breathing of resignation, gratitude and trust? “Leave me not,” he cried to his mourning friends, who were summoned to receive his calm, affectionate farewell. “Leave not Marshfield till I am dead. Re main with me til! all is over.” Oh! lives there one “so cold, so dead,” who does not wish the presence of those they love,in life’s last waning hours? We do not envy those who cannot sympathize in senti ments like these: “On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires. Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries, Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.’’ “Most significant, too, was his request to his son to read him Gray’s Elegy.” \es, it was significant, not of a bitter, repining spir it, tiiiged with the gall and wormwood of disappointed ambition, but of the sublime calmness of a soul, which even in the ago nies of dissolving nature, could listen with delight to those grand and melodious strains which come rolling through the sounding aisles of time, expressing thef true estimate of human glory, the vanity of earth, the noth ingness of fame. When his Christian physician repeated toe sustaining words of the Psalmist, he leaned in the strength of faith on the “staff, the rod held out to comfort and support. He prayed in a voice full, clear and deep, earnestly and devoutly, and his closing sentence was— “ Heavenly Father, forgive my sins, and re ceive me to thyself, through Jesus Christ our SaviflTtr.” Where js the want of sustaining faith, of Christian hope, so often alluded to ? Where the dark conflict of the doubling, fearing, trembling soul? We look in vain tor the ev idence in this touching, majestic scene. It is said by one who was with him while pas sing through th@ valley of the shadow of death, that he seized upa? ,eyer y opportuni ty to press upon the attention of friemjs the great truths of religion, and their practical application to the affairs of life, and tbaj he ‘• ----- ■ , ‘ -a Ij . , ff ‘ •| j a seemed to gain new strength, as he from time to time eloquently and solemnly expa tiated upon the beatitudes of Christianity and divine principles and glorious promises. During his paroxyms of suffering, and they were Terrible, he was tranquil, happy and in perfect possession of all his faculties, fully aware of his situation, and sustained by the most cheerful religious hopes. We see no dim shadows hovering over this couch of sickness, no phantoms of dread, haunting the pillow of the expiring statesman; We see a great soul departing, not in clouds and thick darkness, but in majestic serenity, like the suit, when he sinks slowly and grandly in the western sky. “1 live—l stilt live,” were !ii< last memora ble words, the deathless spirit flashing forth, from his eagle eye, in all its wonted Inillian cy and power. Yes! he still lives and will forever live in the immortality of his renown, But it is not probable to such a life, that his departing spirit awoke with such a triumph ant consciousness. It was the life beyond lilo, the breaking day of eternity, dawning gloriously on the night shades of death. One of the most touching incidents con nected with his last moments, is the grateful remembrance he expressed of his lowliest friends—those who had served him faithfully in life, and ministered to him tenderly in sickness and death. How precious to them will be those golden mementoes of his dying regal’d, hearing the initials of his honored name, united with their own humble ciphers! Where, in the recorded death-scenes of the high and mighty, do we find a proof of more exquisite sensibility, more humility or ten derness of let-ling? Greater, far greater was he, in t.'iat moment ot physical weakness, but intellectual and moral power, than when the Senatmial halls reverberated to the deep mu sic of his voice, and listening throngs bowed before the majesty of iiis kingly brow. He sleeps in death. \li that is mortal of Daniel Webster sleeps to wake no more. In tiie midst of the luxuriant and beautiful scene ry lie so dearly loved, by the magnificent shore wher. the murmurs of the ocean’s tide breathe his everlasting requiem, he lies as tranquil as if no storms of party strife had ever disturbed his bosom’s neace. Thus, one by one, the great ones of our land pass away. Thus, one by one, the mas sy pillars that support our national reputa tion fall crumbling to the dust. Where the funereal moss waves sully in the breeze, Car olina mourns over the grave of her Calhoun. V here the ash trees wreathe their clustering branches, Kentucky weeps for her matchless Clay ; and where the diti rise in regal majes ty on a granite soil. New England bewails the loss of her illustrious Webster. A nation clothed in mourning and sackcloth, hallows the memory of that glorious Trinity, with reverence he it uttered, which cast a hah round the age. Whatever may he the difference of politi cal opinions with regard to his public career, ! let it never cause injustice to the memory of the Sage of Marshfield—that memory which is a nation’s legacy. Every American must be proud ol his fame. It is home on eairle wings from hill to hill, and from shore to i snm-e. But dear as this fame must be to his ! family and friends, it is not so piecious as the memory of his domestic virtues. Rob them imt of their holiest consolation, his peaceful, Christian death. He is risen be yond the reach of human calumny or ap plause. “Cun censure's voice provoke the silent dust, Or finitely soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?” No! but there are bleeding hearts to which every cold, calumniating word must be a barbed arrow rankling in their core; there are those to whom his dying words were ho ly utterances, never, never to be forgotten Let the threshold of his death-chamber be a sacred spot. Pass it not with a harsh, un gentle tread. Angels have been waiting there. C. L. 11. Quincy, Dec. 7, 18.72. SOURCES OF PERFUMES. Whether any perfumed lady woidd be dis concerted at learning the sources of her per fumes, each lady must decide for herself; but it seems that Mr. Do La Rue and Dr. Hoffman, in their capacities as jurors of the Great Exhibition, have made terrible havoc among perfumery. They have found that many of the scents said to be procured from flowers and fruits, are really produced from anything but flowery sources ; the perfumers a:e chemists enough to know that similar odors mav be often produced from dissimi lar substances, and if the half-crown bottle of perfume really has the require! odour the perfumer does not expect to be asked what kind of odor was emitted by the substance whence the perfume was obtained. Now, Doctor Lvon Flay fair, in his summary of S the jury investigation above alluded to, broad ; ly tells us that these primary odors are of ten most unbearable. “A peculiarly foetid oil, termed fusel oil. is formed in making brandy and whiskey ; this fusel oil, distilled with sulphuric acid and acetate of potash, gives the oil of pears. The oil of apples is made from the same fusel oil, by distillation with sulphuric acid and bichromate of pot ash. The oil of piue-apples is obtained from a product of the action of putrid cheese on sugar, or by making a soan with butter, and distilling it with alcohol and sulphuric acid ; ; ami is bqw largely employed in England in COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 30, 1852: making pine apple ale. Oil of grapes and o'l of cognac, used to impart the flavor of French, cognac, to British brandy, are little else than fusel oil. The artificial oil of bit ter almonds, now so largely employed in per fuming soap and for flavoring confectionery, is prepared by the action of nitric acid on foetid oils of gas-tar. Many a fair forehead is damped with can de millefleurs, without knowing that its essential ingredient is deri ved from the drainage of cow-houses.” In all such cases as these the chemical science involved is, really, of a high order and the perfume produced is a bona fide perfume, not one whit less sterling than if produced from fruits and flowers. The only question is one of commercial honesty in giving a name no longer applicable, and charging too highly for a cheaply produced scent. This mode of saving a penny is chemically right but commercially wrong. [From the Alabama State Register.] THE NOBLE SANOTA; : OR, THE GRATITUDE OF AN INDIAN. BV THE AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF ALABAMA. Near the close of the year 17‘JO, there stood, on a bluff beside the Alabama, iti the vicinity of the present Claiborne, an Indian cabin. The occupant was a woman of gen erous impulses, and of much intelligence. Vicev McGii th was the daughter of a Scotch man, and her mother was of the pure Musco gee blood. One dark night iu December, a violent storm arose, bending the tops of the lofty trees which surrounded her abode ; the ; cold rain descended in torrents, and the light ning flashed quick and vivid; the children huddled . rmpid the hearth, while the moth er’s looks were expressive of anxiety and alarm Presently the latchstring was timid ; ly pulled by someone on the steps, and the door slowly opening admitted an Indian { :l d—Lari, buggered and dripping with ruin. With the exception of a ragged shirt, which hung close to his strippling form, he was as naked as when he came into the world. Like all others of Lis mysterious race, he utte> - . and not a word of salutation ; bug being invited, walked towards the fireside and seated him self on a stool. The woman placed before him a trencher of fried venison and corn cake, and while he continued to eat, tears of grati , tude issued from the corners of his dark eyes and rolled down his bony cheeks. That poor boy was an orphan—an outcast. Five years before, his father had fallen in battle with the Chickisaws, and not long after, the life of his mother had terminated by a fever. Ever since then he had wandered from house to house; and, although neither vicious nor idle, none seemed to pity or befriend him. The storm, which continued to blow, but not with so much violence, produced an un willingness among the inmates to retire to ! bed ; and anxious to pass away the night in a cheerful manner, the woman proceeded to draw from the boy an account of his family and of his misfortunes Deeply affected by the artless narrative, she at once determined to adopt him as her son. She bid her own children to love him as a brother and to call him Sanota, which signified—orphan. Sanota, becoming a stout and athletic war rior, was accustomed to chase the deer over the plains, to angle in the silvery streams; and when occasion required it, marched with his red associates to the field of batile. Nev er did he neglect the woman who adopted him. Never did he unwillingly contribute to the support of her childien. When at home, his ever successful hunts supplied them with game, and when absent at war, he sought to procure them the richest spoils. * * * * Years rolled on, and Vicey McGiith still lived at the same place.—Her husband, Zac McGii th, well known to emi grants, had accumulated property which gave him influence. The vast wilderness of the present States of Alabama and Mississippi had partially been settled by American citi zens, and the Creeks, disliking these en croachments, only waited to be aroused to a deeper sense of their injuries by some con trolling spirit. It quickly came in the per son of lecumseh, who, in the fall of 1812, visited every town and hamlet in the Musco gee Confederacy. His warlike heating cap tivated the vonng; his eloquent appeals arous ed the grave. Soon the larger number of the savages became eager for immediate war There was, however, much division upon the question, and particularly those of half-blood, being wedded to their American kinsmen, had resolved to remain neutral. For that which was considered a tory spirit, they were presently pursued and driven into places of defence, along with their American friends. Over five hundred souls who had taken re fuge behind the walls of Fort Mims were suddenly surprised by a thousand warriors, who entered the gates in the broad mid-day. An unexampled butchery ensued. The as sailants were so Indiscriminate in their slaugh ter as to make the babe and its mother wel ter in the blood of the expiring soldier. In every direction the savages were seen cutting the women and children in pieces, and Sano ta was foremost in the assault. He was ad vancing upon a few of the inmates who had endeavored to screen themselves in the cor net of the house—his bloody arm was raised in the act of aiming a blow at the head of an elderly woman of the half blood, when he discovered that it was Vicey McGirth—sur- I rounded by seven children. The ruthless •'savages were pressing towards them, and the agitated Sanota had no time to lose. De- termined to save them at the risk of his own life, he thrust them in a corner and made his broad breast a rampart for their protection. When finally fearing he should be overcome by several of his more vindictive comrades, he cried out, “these are my slaves, and I charge you not to kill them.” In all Indian wars, the victors had the right to kill their prisoners or reserve them as slaves. This declaration had the effect of forcing the war riors to desist, and Vicey McGirth and her children lived. Tecuinseh had made deep impression upon Sanota. He had become one of those who j sought the extermination of every American citizen. He knew not that the woman who reared him was one of the inmates of Fort Mims—he was confident she was within the j walls of Fort Pierce ; and aware that the Indians had resolved to destroy that place, when they should have completed their pre sent enterprise, it was his intention to save her life when the opportunity offered. ‘l’lie sun of August had sunk below the j tops of the trees, and twilight witnessed the ; destruction of Fort Mims. The victorious warriors, who had retired one mile to the j east, were reposing after the toils of the day. j Sanota conducted his adopted mother and her children to a stream which meandered through the green reeds; with its pure waters quenched their thirst, and from the spoils he j had taken he supplied them with food and pallets on which to repose. Although fatigued from a conflict of five hours, duration, lie clo sed not his own eyes during that night, so anxious was be to shield these unfortunate females from the brutalities of the hostile. Zac McGirth was not in the Fort when it was attacked. With two of his slaves, he \ had entered a boat for the purpose of ascend- i ing the Alabama to his plantation,for supplies^- 1 During the carnage-, he was at the distance of j two miles, and seeing the folly of approaching | the scene, when he knew bv tiie veils of the ! assailants that the inmates were overcome, had remained i:i the woods until near the close of day. About dark lie approached the fatal spot, in search of his family. 1 have already said that the savages had retired. .McGirtb now stood aghast at the horrible I spectacle before him. Human bodies at that moment were frying and cracking upon the 1 glowing coals. He and his faithful negroes turned over the dead, and scrutinizing face after face, were unable to trace a resemblance to those whom he sought. Turning away with a sad heart, he hastened to Ids boat, and dropping down to Mount Vernon, told the tide of his lamented bereavement. Little did he imagine while searching among the slain, that his wife and children were alive, not far from him—protected with care and vigilance by the generous - Sanota. On the morning after the massacre, Sanota proceeded with his adopted mother and sis* ters to his place of abode, on the banks | the Coosa. Arriving at the Hick-Ground, !fe placed them under the care of his wife, who supplied their wants for a moment, while he I went in quest of game He devoted himself 1 for the space of four months to the pleasing task of alleviating their destress. W hen, how ever, the warriors were assembling to resist ! the Tennesseeans at the Horse Shoe, Sanota felt himself hound to be among the number. Leaving Mrs. McGirtL tor-the present, with i his equally kind wife, he rushed to the battle ! field and soon lay among the slain ! 1 Fearing to remain longer among the popu ; lation who desired to witness her death at the stake, Mrs. Me Girth, soon after hearing of the fall of her friend, stole away with their children and hid herself in the darkest part of the wilderness. Wandering, for days and i weeks, in a southwestern direction, eating mots and wild berries, she finally reached the abandoned plantation of her husband, below Claiborne. There, American troops discov ered the wretched party, and restored them to McGirtb, who had long believed that their bones bleached upon the field of Fort Mims. abd-el-kadeS There is not a man now living in Europe, we think, entitled to share in an equal degree with the Arab Chief the admiration of the j world. His exploits and personal qualities invest him with all the charm of romance, combined with profound respect for his devo ! tion to Lis country, his heroism, and his mis fortunes. His name will stand ‘in history alongside of those of the Chi of Gonsalvo, of Montrose, and Kosciusko. Since the great Duke lias descended to the tomb, the Arab Emir has no peer on the roll of illustri ous living men. His adversities have added to the interest inspired by his military achieve ments, and the public heart sympathizes with every thing relating to him; hut we have seen no recent notice of him so touching as the annexed passage from the Paris corres pondence of the Journal of Commerce : “Aba-el Kader arrived at the castle of Am boise the day of his depasture from the capi tal. About half past eight in the evening he was received in form at the portal by the Arab chiefs who shared his fortunes. He graciously, but hastily, accepted their wel come, and then rushed forward to meet his j mother at the door of her apartment. He i kissed each of her shoulders, threw himself at her feet, and kissed them repeatedly. The aged parent raised him up,and asked him for a circumstantial narrative of his adventure at Paris, after she had led him into ber room and seated him before hen While he de- honors of his sojourn, she wept now and then from joy and surprise. As soon as he ended he took her by the arm, and conducted her to the Mosqur. in the Chateau, where all the companions of his exile were assembled, and a few French attendants admitted. He re turned. in a loud voice, thanks to God for .all that had occurred ; lie concluded with a po etical prayer for the preservation of the new Ca*sar, to* whom lie owed his release after so long a captivity. “The whole scene left a deep impression oil the French spectators. After the religious rite* he repaired to his legitimate spouse; Arab etiquette required that she should be the last object of !iis attention. On his way ho exchanged good wishes and pleasant phra ses with the male part of his household. The morning after a fete was arranged by his companions to celebrate bis return; they danced to the sound of tambours. In the course of the day the authorities of the town of Amboise waited upon him with their con gratulations. Asa manifestation of his su preme content and confidence, he unveiled Ids wife’s face to the French Commandant of the Castle’ We are not told, in the official report, from which the foregoing particulars are drawn, whether the lady’s beauty or dig nity of mien corresponded to the tine face and exalted rank of tiie Emir. “I have seen in the U. S. the most emarka ble Indian chiefs; and in Europe, Aflk.msand Asiatics of various races, of the noblest ranks; Egyptians, Abyssinians, Persians, Hindoos, Siamese, Madagascar nobles, barbarians, and semi-barbarians so styled ; but not one to be compared with this Abd-el-Kader, in aspect, demeanor, sentiment, or traits of superior in tellect and refined spirit. The influence of his life, character, and person on mv feelings has caused me to collect, with special inter est, the main occurrences of his visit to the capital. It is stated that he is invited to re turn on the proclamation of the Empire, ac companied by his harem and the rest of his household. The Marquis of Londonderry, who takes to himself half at least of the cre dit of the liberation, lias deputed a special messenger to Amboise, bearing an urgent re quest that the Emir would visit London as his guest. Possibly his French benefactor will not readily expose him to British influ ences. or wish him to learn directly how vast the metropolis and power of the rival nation. Nothing would escape his intelligence.” [From the Athens Herald.] We were jnsLoju, the point of offering a premium for the best essay on the importance of paying,.punctually for newspapers, when we me|with the following from the pen of ourjfriend, the editor of the St. Louis Chris tian Advocate. Fully satisfied that it would bear off the premium, we transfer it to our columns for the benefit of that portion of our readers to whom it applies, with the hope that they and we too may he profited by it: THOMAS SLOW, Esq. We put Esquire to Tommy's name, though we have, no very high respect for either ids name or nature. Still we put it there, knowing very well, that in this age of utilitarianism, esquire and doctor, and such like appendages to men’s names, are some what like the car! in a pig’s tail—more for ornament than for use. So we call Tommy “Esquire”, by courtesy, and he may make much ot it, for it’s the only courtesy he will ever receive at our hands. Tommy—is precisely what his name indi. cates— Slow. Slow to get up in the morning slow to his breakfast, though not very slow t o eat it, slow to his work, and slow at his work. Slow at everything and all the time, except when he sleeps—that he does fast enough. Tommy ows this office three dollars for jast year’s subscription to this paper. Many a time he has felt it ought to he paid, and many a time has he thought he would pay it. But like the “old bachelor” in the song, “There’s time enough for that,” said he, so we have not been paid. We have just been thinking what evil Tommy is causing, and what good he is pre venting, by neglecting to pay those three dollars. Suppose, now, he would send the money—not a very probable event—still sup pose he were, we would go right off anti pay the compositor, the compositor would pay the pressman, the pressman would pay the roller hov. the roller-boy would carry the money to his widowed mother, she would pay Dr Calo i mi l for that medicine that didn’t quite kill tier sick child, Dr. Calomel would pay Peter Crispen for mending his old hoots, Peter Cris pen would pay Dick Black for the last coal lie got from him, Dick Black would pay Bob ’Vulcan for shoeing his fidrse, Bob Vulcan would pay Mr. Drygoods for his wife’s new bonnet, Mr. Drygoods would pay Bill Gro cer for the tea, cheese, &e., that graced his j table last week, Bill Grocer would pay law yer Ketchum his fee for counsel, in the ease ot “the State of Missouri against the afore said Bill Grocer,” lawyer Ketchum would j pay Dan Baker for the bread and crackers he and his family have been cracking for the last month, Dan Baker would pay Joe Wa terman for the milk he has furnished him, Joe Waterman would pay honest John Steady for the hay Ids cows have eaten, and honesj John Steady is sach an honest fellow, that jhe would be sure to come and pay us two dollars in advance for .next year. So you see all the debts would be paid, and the edi tor would have two whole dollars! With these two dollars ws rus|bt do several things. TERMS OF PUBLICATION. One Copy, per annum, if paid in advance,...§2 00 “ “ “ “ “ in six months, 2 . r )0 “ “ “ ** “ at end of year, 300 RATES Or ADVERTISING. One square, first insertion, ----- $1 00 “ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal deduction made in favor of those who advertise largely. NO. 1. For instance, we might get anew coat or a new hat, for some of our “todlin wee ones,” or we might send to market and get several nice bits of Fereature comforts with these, how comfortable “old folks” would feel! O, Tommy Slow, Tommy Slow, how much evil von are doing ! how much happiness you are preventing ! It requires all our forbearance to keep from giving you a “terrible going over!” Many persons who are indebted to this es tablishment till to the life the above descrip tion of Thomas Slow, Esq., but let an unfor tunate devil owe one of them a “sevenoence,” and he is Thomas Slow no longer. As regu lar as the rising and setting of the sun—the ebbing and flowing of the tide—will he their visits to the unfortunate debtor—-yea, verily, they will follow him like his shadow—no ex cuse, no apology, “no nothing,” but the mo ney, will satisfy them. We seht a few weeks ago an account for some $25 to a man once threatened to sue us for 37 1-2 cents that we did not know we owed him, and he has not deigned even to notice its receipt, much less to pay it. Editors are sometimes blamed by that por tion of their customers who do pay, for their complaints against those who do not. We ask any honest man to say, on his own con science, in view of (he above case, (and it is not by any means an isolated one.) whether there is not ample ground for complaint % The fact is, there ought to he concert of action among editors to protect their interests. An inflexible rule should he adopted, viz. * Never to send a [taper or insert an advertise meet until paid for in advance, for anybody whatever, from the President down to the humblest citizen. This concert of action can only be effected through the instrumen tality of Convention-—and so far as Georgia is concerned, the sooner it is held the better. THE LEPERS IN JERUSALEM. in my rambles about Jerusalem, says.a correspondent of the Na.lio7ial InleUi;\cnc<ir , 1 passed, on several occasions, through tjggu quarter of the lepers. Apart from the Ip terest attached to this unfortunate, class inf beings, (arising from the frequent allusilib made to them in ScHußum*) there i.->t.xpUch in their appearayytyifliJl mode of life to attract atlenti m <mjj[n{ist the sympathy of a stran ger. disease go revoltmgly together Ur ifo-gaunt famine stalks through the steeds; a constant moan of suffering swells upon the dead air, and sin broods darkly over the ruin it has wrought in that gloomy and ill-fa ted spot. Wasted forms sit in the doorways ; faces covered with white scales and sight less eyes are turned upward ; skeleton arms, distorted and foitid with the ravages of lep rosy, are outstretched from the foul moving mass; and alow howl is heard, the howl of the stricken for alms—“ Alms, oh stranger, for the love of God! alms to feed the in exorable destroyer! alms to prolong this dreary and hopeless misery.!” Look upon it, stranger, you who walk forth in all your pride and strength, and breathe the fresh ainof heaven —you who have nover known what it is to be shunned by your fellow-man as a thing unclean and accursed—you who believe your selfunblcst with all the blessings that God has given you upon earth—look upon it, and learn tnnt there is a misery upon all that you have conceived in your gloomiest hour—a misery that can still be endured. Learn that even i the leper, with death gnawing at hi v vitals | and unceasing tortures in his blocd, cast out from the society of his fellow-men, forbid den to touch in friendship or affection the hand of the untainted, still struggles for life,” and deems each hour precious that keeps him from the grave ! The quarter of the lepers is a sad and im pressive place. By the laws of the land, which have existed from Scriptural times, ; they are isolated from all actual contact with ; their fellow men ; but there seems no prptti ! bilion to their going out beyond the walls of ! Jerusalem, and begging by the road side,—- j'Near the gate of Zion, on the way to Beth ; lehem, I saw. many of them sitting on the’ i rocks, their hideous faces uncovered, thrust ing forth their scaly hands for alms Their huts are rudely constructed of earth and stones, seldom with more than one apartment, and this so filthy and loathsome that it seems unfit to be occupied by swine. Here they live and propagate whole families, together,- without distinction of sex; and their dread ful malady is perpetuated from generation to generation, and the groans of the aged and the dying are mingled with the feeble wail of the young that are brought forth branded for a life of misery. Strange and mournful thoughts arise, in the contemplation of the sad condition and probable destiny of these ill fated beings. Among so many* there must be some in whose breasts the power of true love i3 im planted—love for woman in its purest sense, for offspring, for all the endearments of do me-tie life which the untainted are capable of feeling, yet doomed never to exercise the af fections without perpetuating the curse. Some, too, in whom there are hidden powers of the mind, unknown save to themselves; ambition, that corrodes with unavailing aspi rations; a thirst for action, that burns within unceasingly, yet never to be assuaged ; and the ruling passions, that are implanted in man fc • great and noble purposes, never, never to give one moment’s pleasure unmixed with the perpetual gloom of that curse which dwells in their blood. As l pi odded my way for the last time through this den of sickening sights, a vision of human misery was impressed upon my mind that time cannot efface. I passed when the ray of the sun was cold and the light was dim; and there came out from ,the reeking hovels leprous men, gaunt with famine, and they bared their hideous bodies, and howled like beasts; and women held out their loath some and accursed babes, arid tore away the j rags that covered them, and pointing to the I shapeless mass, shrieked for alms- All was j sin and disease and sorrow wherever I went; and as I passed on, unable to relieve a thou sandth part of the misery, moans of despair and howling curses'followed me, and lepers crawled hack into their hovels to rol in tho filth and die when God willed.