Georgia courier. (Augusta, Ga.) 1826-1837, October 11, 1827, Image 2

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GEORGIA COURIER. J. G. ffi’WSCOUTSB. HE3n&r rmirns, PUBLISHERS. Trrvi* Thin P.ipi-r if puhli<heil rv<»ry Monday and fhnradny af'rrnooii, it «T> on p.-r -innum. payable'in ad- unce, or $(< 00 at tli™ expiration of'he year. XT Advertisements not exeeedine a square, inserted the first tints or 62 l-2‘ccnt“, and -13 3-1 cents for each cdn- tinnance. j icntioii fur a time from the engrossing to- I pic of^ bitter reflections and i egrets. I acquired 'the power of concealing the tor ture ot my mind, from the observation of others; and, as l did not wish to return i home, I pursued my first intention of go ing to College, where our acquaintance commenced. It is unnecessary to give FOR Till: GEORGIA COURIER. T1IE VICTIM! I OV T:*L&VTUQSlTir. ( Concluded.) <* These were the most interesting por tions of my father’s narrative ot what trans pired during mv illness. I recovered slow ly, but such was the settled mcdanchoiy th;it brooded continually over my mind, rhat my situation was scarcely preferable to the one I had left. Sly parents thought that this was, in a great degree, occasion ed by the continual presence ot objects so fruitful of heart-rending associations; and that travelling would be beneficial.-— I made no objection, for my native vil lage had no longer any charms to detain me, since every object I once loved so well, only reminded me ot my crime. I 1 had the greatest desire to see Cecilia ; vet I was fearful that niy appearance •might cause too great excitement for her feeble frame, and perhaps be seriously in jurious to her health. I could not, how ever, bear the thought of leaving home Without one parting interview; for I thought T should never see her again.— My request for this purpose was granted, and I was introduced to her presence.— For some time she had not recognised anv one that approached her, and was gradually sinking under a listless vacant melancholy. I entered the room where she w'as sitting at the window, regarding the beauties of nature with a p nsive and absent air. Her head was turned from the door, her soft white hand supported her pale cheek, and in the other held a book which perhaps she had been looking at, through the effect of habit, without understanding its contents. So composed and melancholy was her attitude, so ab stracted her air, that I could not, for some time, consent to intrude upon her calm serenity. “ Her father called her name, and in formed her that Francis had come to see her. She seemed somewhat agitated by feelings, which were similar to what they are at this present moment, that I had been long absent, and that my friends were either employed in searching for me, or else bewailing my supposed death. I discovered the situation of this place by seeing the colleges and village at a dis tance, and returned home by the most pri- you a particular account of what there i vate way to avoid an exposure of my mis took phtc<*,—-with most of the circumstan ces you are already acquainted. will show the necessity of the notice : * Unequivocal’ was inserted in place of equivocal; ‘ stranggling’ for struggling 5 ‘ direct’ for divest; ‘ concussions’ for co ruscations ; ‘ called’ for culled ; ‘ the’ for my ; ‘ composure’ for confidencee; 1 gen erally* for generously, and similar ones which may have been observed by the readers, although they do not now occur. ery. My parents were overjoyed, for they had almost despaired of ever seeing j “ I endeavored to banish reflection in i me a? 3115 .* Here I enjoyed for some time every possible way ; I sought the holiest *He blessings of reason,but kept as retired company, not because it was congenial to my feelings, for every jest, every expres sion of mirth, sent a pang to my heart; but th ; s pang was not so excruciating as that of solitary reflection. Study, when I could confine my mind to it, afforded as possible, because I could not bear the public scrutiny, and felt m/self not in a situation to associate with the world. I | had some hope, however, that time would ! make me capable of enjoying those pleas- j ures, which the dying injunctions of my some relief; but a single recollection of! beloved made it my duty to desire. Soli- mv misfortune and the misery I had occa- j ,ar y wa Iks around the village were my sioned, wouM break the chain of my ideas j principal exercise, and one evening I de termined to visit the graves of my dear friends. I had made some inquiries of \ my father respecting Mr. and .Mrs. Rem- the name, and slowly turned her eyes from one to the other, as if in hopes of recognising some known face. She ap peared disappointed, until they settled in A piercing glance at me. For a moment she regarded me with the closest atten tion, then starting suddenly up, with an exclamation of joy, she threw herself into ury arms, “ Oh George! Oh my dear broTjier!” she cried, “ T knew you would come to me again j I knew you would not be so cruel as never to return.” “ I clasped her hand in mine, in ag~>nv unutterable, and as she withdrew from my arms, I told her that it was not her hrother. “ Oh, sav not so; do not tell me that George has not come back ; do not say that I am still a bereaved sister. But— it is not Genrpe; all ! T know it is not George; but,” she continued, while a flight blush suffused her animated counte nance,” it is one who once loved me— now.—Oh, Francis, where have you been ? why have you left me so long ? Will George not come; did you not bring Him with vou? Shall I never, never see him more?” “ A flood of tears, the first she had shed for a long time, came to her relief, and she fell into her chair, and hid her face with her hands in evident emotion. VV e endeavored to calm her agitated fcel- ;\ugs, 1 -lit soon her wild looks and incohe rent ravings told too plainly, that she was not in a situation to profit l>v our consola tions. ’* I hud armed mvself with resolution to repress all outward exhibi'io.ns of my grief in her presence; and, although her first appearance sent .an almost insupport able pang to mv heart, I overcome the emotion, and advanced towards her. But when she took me for her brother; when she called his no me in so affectionate, and yet so sorrowful, a manner, my feelings tvere inconceivably tortured. I could have borne the raving of madness; I could have borne to look upon the countenance once so intelligent, once beaming with vi vacity and joy, upon which I loved so fondly to gave, although the wild look of a disordered mind had usurped the place ot intelligence; although all its joy and vivacity had disappeared in the gloom of despair and grieL But when, instead of titter destitution of Intellect and the list less, unmeaning deportment I expected, her countenance beamed with a partial ray of intelligence, when she seamed so jnuch affected by mv presence,—above all, when her sweet angelic voice pro nounced, in such melting accents, the name of her beloved George; her brother •—her murdered brother—Oh, it was too much for the heart of his murderer to bear. Not all the pains of sickness and xvant; not all the ranklings of disappoint ed ambition and despised love; not all the sorrows of human nature assembled into one point of existence, could surpass Jhe^dreadful agony that overwhelmed me, as I hastily retreated from, the chamber and fell senseless, and for a time lifeless, e.t the door. ” This occasioned a relapse from which . ^ recovered after a long and' tedious con finement. I then left the village, and for several months was travelling in different Ps>rts of the country, in the hope of sub duing, at least tu a measure, the gloom that had taken such complete possession of mv mind. I was not entirely success- »ul, as new scenes, constantly presenting li'ercseivesj could not but divert my st and render me the most miserable of be ings. Dissipation would sometimes pre vail over the gloom of my feelirjgs, but its influence was false and illusory. “In Some of the more violent parox isms, I was obliged to retreat from the village and the company of the studenis, devote myself entirely to the torture of recollection, and, without the least self- command, submit to its control. You have seen me in this situation ; the pity you evidently felt for my unhappy state ; I your delicacy in refraining from enquiries of the cause of my disorder, and your ge nerous and disinterested friendship, at tached me most strongly to you. It made upon the heart of the miserable being, to wards whom it was exercised, an impres sion never to be effaced. Believe me when I tell you that I most sincerely avow my gratitude. This alone could have in duced me to relate to you my history. During my absence from home, I heard frequently from Cecilia, through my fa ther, and the only remaining solace of my life, was the hope that she might be eventually restored. But this hope, like every other of my heart, was doomed to disappointment. “ You remember the evening I left you so abruptly—the last time I saw you be fore this evening. The servant you saw had been sent, by my father, with the heart-rending information that Cecilia was extremely ill and desired to see mo. With a thousand varied emotions ofhope and fear, I flew to the village. I repair ed instantly to her house and entered her chamber. She was indeed very ill; alas ! her soul seemed fluttering around on the point of its eternal flight. Her livid coun tenance told that death was near, yet the soft serenity of her features showed that he would be no unwelcome visitor. Struck with the solemnity of the scene, I lingered at the door until a friend an nounced to iier my arrival. She was now perfectly rational, and as I approached her side, she gave me a look of recogni tion and kindness, and made a feeble ef- fori s tr> l>«r hand. I took it ixi mine, but so great was my emotion that utterance would have been impossible. “All, Francis,” she said, with faint but inexpressibly feeling accent,s “ you have come soon enough to hear my dying re quest. Live, I beseech you, with the earnest desire and continual endeavor to overcome the despair that preys on your mind. Resolve to shake off the gloomy melancholy that embitters your existence, and try to become a useful and happy man. Forget all the events of this hour, except the advice of her who now leaves you forever, whose latest, most earnest desires are for your future welfare. A- bove all, think no more of the fatal deed which your rashness, not your crime, oc casioned, but endeavor to blot it from your memory. Promise to comply with these requests.” “ I fell on my knees and most solemnly vowed to obey. Her parents knelt al most involuntarily at my side; her hand was still clasped in mine, and for some moments her eyes beamed with the soft complacency of satisfaction and resigna tion; her lips gently moved, as if in prayer, and with a feeble voice, she im- plore'd divine blessings upon us all, her nearest and dearest connexions. The sound died away from her lips as the passing breeze; her hand seemed to relax its gentle hold; her features were as cairn and placid as of an infant in hap piest slumber: her eyes were closed, and not the least nerve agitated—but her pure and immaculate soul had deserted forever its earthly habitation. “ A smile, as if of pleasure to find death so easy, still lingered, unwilling to leave the lips where it loved to dwell; but oh ! how different from the rosy, changing smile of playful innocence. I regarded the corse with fearful agitation, and my eyes were fixed, as by a charm, upon the lovely countenance. Soon objects be came less and less distinct; the image of George was blended in my mind, with that of his sister, and the happiest dajs I enjoyed in their company seemed strangely confused with the dreadful re collections of their death. Then I thought that the united and happy spirits of George and Cecilia were calling me to follow them to the grave. I eagerlj' and joyfully at tempted to reach them, but an invisible, yet impenetrable, barrier seemed to in terpose and separate me from their pre sence. “Of what has since occurred, I have little recollection, except a most indistinct one, of seeing the body of my loved Ce cilia quietly inurned in the tomb; but even of this, I am entirely uncertain whethor it is only a phantom of my dis ordered imagination, nr whether I was actually present. This part of my exist ence was as complete a blank, as if a temporary death had intervened; and when at length a return, of reasou came to iny benighted mind I felt the greatest so licitude to know what was my situation. “ You may imagiue my astonishment and horror, when I found mvself in this gloomy place—a habitation, fit only for .beasts, or such unfortunate wretches as THE STATE r s. HENRY SHULTZ k ALEXANDER BOYD. The following is the substance of the Charge deliv ered by the presiding Judge, to the Jury. From what has fallen from the counsel in the course of the argument, the court is left to conclude that the tiansaction lead ing to thi§ prosecution has been the source of great public excitement. Difficult as such a labour would be if such a passion had taken possession of the public mind, the jury were called on by the most so lemn obligations of justice and humanity to enter on an honest self examination, to • | ] <1111 IW G U 1 b I Wit flit III* I1GJI VilUlllI tiUlivIlla l V mson but as they were generally evaded, diyest themselves of its j nQtience| and t0 I had not the resolution to press the sub ject although my worst fears were excited. But now, when in the melancholy place that speaks so powerfully, though silently, of the fickle uncertainty of human hopes, I wept over the graves of Cecilia and George; it required, nothing more than my own feelings to inform me, that the two fresher graves, so near them, were those of their parents. “ The gentle whispers of the breeze, through the tall poplars and mourning ^ i willows around, was in melancholy con sonance with the gloom of mv grief; and vet there was a kind of pleasure iu con templating death in such an interesting j form. The still' unsettled stale of my mind could not support the continual re currence of thoughts and objects so affect ing, and notwithstanding every means was used to prevent it, my insanity soon re turned. Since then I have had no lucid intervals of any duration; I have some faint recollection of who were in pur suit of me, and hiding from their searen. When I was conscious of any thing, I have generally found myself here, and my present situation, together with those faint and momentary glimmerings of reason, induce the belief that this has been my continual place of residence. “ To-day a return of intellect, more perfect and lucid than any I have enjoyed since Cecilia’s death, came suddenly upon me, and with the resolution that has al- ways actuated me on such occasions, I was about to return to my parents. But some soft presentiment seemed to tell mo that I never should complete the journey. I fell upon rav knees and for hours implored divine forgiveness of my sins, and that, in its passage beyond the grave, my son!, stript of all its infirmities and imperfections, might bo prepared for the society of those, whose lives had been so prematurely snatched away by my des perate impetuosity. At length peace and joy, strange emotions t • my desolate heart, pervaded m v soul, and as the sun set with such splendour in the west, I thought that the kindred spirits of George and Cecilia, were commissioned to bring to me the joy ful news of my reconciliation with hea ven ; perhaps it was a vain, delusive dream, but I saw them beckoning me on to their presence, and I felt an impulse within that informed me I would not disobey their summons, “ I recollect that you were the onlv friend 1 could procure to perform.the last sad offices, and I wished to give you a token of my esteem. You are with me and gratitude, for your presence and frendship will sweeten mv latest moments. And now f have hut one wish for life and one for death :—The fir$t, that mv father w’ere here to receive mv dying love and carry it to my mother; the ^'ther that mv body might repose with those of Cecilia and George, and add one more to the me lancholy group that calls so londlv upon the sympathy of every heart. Give these portraits to my father, they are those of niy dear friend*. Tell him not to grieve for my fate, I have been unfortuate and miserable, but now I am hnnpv, and thp only regret that can disturb me is that mv father is not here.” “ Let that no longer disturb vou, my son,” exclaimed an unknown voice, that w.as so unexpected and so contrasted from the weak and failing accents of the dying Francis, that it started my every nerve. Francis, who had for some time been obliged to recline upon my breast for sup port, now suddenly started up, crying “ Thank God! my father! my father;” (he sank into the old man’s arms,) “ and now I die contented.” There was a moment ofsolemn silence; Francis was still resting in his father’s embrace, whose exhausted frame was scarcely able to support his embrace—-his spirit had taken its flight forever, to join with fluttering, joyful wings, the kindred souls of his friends who had preceded him. The sun just then arose and looked up on the scene, and his first grateful rays were refleced from the pale, cold face of the last of the Victims of Impetuosity. Often since has he arisen, and often looked upon the graves of Francis, of George, of Cecilia, and of their parents ; but the lus tre of his beams, for a thousand years will not re-animate the dead, nor efface from my mind the melancholy associations connected with the fate and history of mv friend. The author of the Victims of Impe tuosity, considers it due to himself to state that it was not convenient for him to attend to the correction of the pieces as they came from the press; in consequence, several errors have escaped the notice of the publisher. Where these extended no farther than the addition- or omission of a letter, they are not conceived worthy of notice ; but owing, as he supposes, to the illegibility, and ip some instances perhaps, to the inaccuracy of the manuscript, words have been entirely changed so as to mate- T l <• rially affect the sense of the sentence.— nojsejf 4 Hbcw from my appearance a'nd The following are given as instances, and | enter on the consideration of the import- i ant matters submitted to them, with a 'determination to decide according to the [evidence—that a danger equally to beap- I prehended, and alike unfriendly to the I administration of public justice, sometimes | resulted from the reaction of public opin- ; ion, against which it was equally their duty to guard, for although it was true that settled public opinion was usually founded in truth, it was equally true that the ebb of high excitement usually ran in to the opposite extreme. That tlio important and highly respon sible duty which the occasion imposed on the court was duly appreciated ; if possi ble, that which devolved on the jury was still more important. Tho exposition and determination of the rules of law by which the case was to be decided, was the pro vince of the court ; but the more import ant dufy of deciding the truth of the facts, and their definitive application, decisive of the fate of the prisoners, belonged to them. • The crime of murder, with which the prisoners were charged, consisted, accord ing to the universally received definition, in the taking away of the life of a reason able being, in the peace of the State, with malice afore thought—that from this de finition it necessarily resulted, that to sup port a prosecution for murder, the proof must trace the death to some act of the accused; and that such connexion had not been established, had been earnestly and seriously denied in the case under consideration. The rule upon this subject, was one founded on real practical common sense, which admitted of but little variation, and was accessible to the most ordinary capa- ci ty. If death insue from an injury with out any other supervening cause, of neces sity it must be referred to that injury; but if, on the other hand, an injury is sustained, not in its nature calculated to produce death, but in consequence of the application of an unadvised, and improper remedy, death does insue, it is referable to this cause, and not to the original inju ry : thus il one inflict on another, a mor tal wound, of which lie instantly dies, the the cause is necessarily referred to the wound ; but if a very slight wound is in flicted, and the death ensue in consequence of an improper prescription, the death is referable to the prescription, and not to the wound. On the part of the prosecution it was' alledged, and such was the proof, that the prisoners had inflicted on the person of the deceased Joseph Martin, a chastise ment which, in the opinion of Dr. Brazier, witness called by the prisoners, must necessarily have produced high febrile excitement, and that this consequence did insue ending in his death, notwithstanding he was attended by a Physician, (Doctor Spann,) called in by the prisoner, (H. Shultz,and who stated that the deceased received all the attention which, accord ing to his judgment, his situation required, up to the time of his dissolution. On tire other hand, it was said that the decased had been removed from the house of the prisoner, II. Shultz, in upper Hamburg, to that of Capt. Tatom’s, in lower Hamburg, when in aliigh state of perspiration, and in the night time, and that he had not un dergone the depletion indicated by his situation, circumstances which, in the opinion of Doctors Brazier and M’Wlior- ter, might have contributed to his death ; and hence it was concluded that the death was referable to these causes and not to the original injury,—of this matter the jury would judge and draw tlieir own concluion. If they determined* this mat ter in favor of the acused, their acquital would follow'; but if against them, there remained another question, which, in the opinion of the court, constituted the im portant point in the case : and that was whether the killing amounted to murder or manslaughter. In the concise definition before given, it would be perceived that malice prepense constituted a necessary ingredient of the crime of murder—that it was manifested sometimes by previous declarations or ly ing in waif, and by all those circumstances which tend to show a precedent, settled purpose to take life. The law implied it in all those cases where 'from the circum stances it could not be referred to other obvious causes. It would be inferred from the use of a weapon calculated to inflict a mortal wound, and, as more direct ly applicable to the case under considera tion, to the continuation of an illegal inju ry endangering life: in fine, to all those acts demonstrating an indifference to con sequences and indicating a heart devoid of social duty and fatally bent on mischief. The crime of manslaughter was distin guished from murder by the absence of malice, and it would be difficult per haps to express the distinction in terms more appropriate than those used by*M*. Wm. Blackstone. He remarks that, “in “ general, when an involuntary killing “ happens in consequence of an unlawful ” act, it will be murder or manslaughter^ “ according to tlie act which occasioned “ it. If it be in the prosecution of a felo- “ nious intent, or in its consequences na- “ turally tend to bloodshed, it will be “ murder; but if no more wa-i intended “ than a me e civil trespass, it will only “ amount to manslaughter.”. (4th Black. Com. 192.) In the application of this note the at tention of the jury, passing over the cir cumstances which were mattersef induce ment, was called to the facts sworn to by the witness, Williams, who stated that when lie saw the deceased he was prostrate on the ground—that on being assisted, or rather compelled to rise, by the prisoner," Shultz, he was so much exhausted that he sunk five or six times in walking a dis tance less than the fourth of a mile—that on being brought to Hamburg, iio was un able, with all the conveniences and com forts which the prisoner, II. Shultz, pro vided for him, to travel home on the even ing of the same day, and that he finally sunk under wounds and bruises which he received at the hands of the prisoners, and which have been described by the witnesses. On the other hand it was said, and such seems to be the proof, that the pris oner, Shultz, MTigaged in the business for thetn will tidf; arW I believe without f t , of them Mr. Adams can never be elec/j On this subject the most correct states is that every thing is in doubt,& that if y. Crawford should be elected, it would / be astonishing ; I believe that in the vato feelings of tho members of Con" he has more good will, and is better" V teemed, than either cf the other "ent! men. So man’, / think, believes that there is the foundation fr the accusation against Mr ( and no man affects to credit it but Mr. Krc m . at any rate. 1 know of none who does. ” ■ Y( &C. &C. J. M’LEAN AUGUSTA. THURSDAY, OCTOBER n, i Sr We received Mr. Eaton’ after our paper was full. It will in our next. He says, “ Buchanan’s statement and statement appear Between 3j r m y o»n and that of Gen. Jackson, I can discern n essential difference.” Mr. Eaton disca vers no netv lact, except the singular one the laudable purpose of reclaiming a trunk ! that capital was so scarce in Philaddnl which had been stolen from some travel-! jn 182 tljat enterprising individuals h iia had j [ to go to Tennessee for if, and that tlx Editors of the Columbian Observerwerr ling ladies, and that he acted under the belief that deceased was the thief, no one who had heard the trial would doubt; and whether he was or was not, was a matter i indebted to Mr. Eaton for the cash which wholly immaterial to this issue—that his f-prolonged the political importance ofih eir kiud and parental admonition to the deceased, the interest be took in securing him from a prosecution for the supposed theft, and above all, the high character for humanity which was accorded to him by all the witnesses who spoke of it, re pelled the implication of malice. From the whole of the circumstances the jury were left to draw their own con clusion, and they were told that if they should find that the prisoners had perpe trated this deed with the settled purpose of taking away the life of the deceased, or if the acts done were such as in them selves endangered life, or indicated an in difference to consequences, or a heart de void of social duty and fatally bent on mischief, it would be their duly to pro nounce the prisoners guilty of murder ; but if on tho contrary they were satisfied that the converse of these propositions be true, they ought to find them guilty of manslaughter only. —©Q©—- [From the Illinois Gazette, Septembers.] JACKSON AND BUCIIANAN- These gentlemen are at issue in regard to the charge of corruption against Mr. Clay. The latter, who was to have proved the damning feci, has completely acquit ted him, and explicitily states to tho pub lic that the only conversation lie ever had with General Jackson on the occasion al luded to, was entirely upon his own res ponsibility, and not as agent of Mr. Clay, or any other person, and he wonders how General Jackson could have supposed he came from Mr. Clay or any of his friends for says he, it was known that he had never been the political friend of for. Clay siuce he had become a candidate for the Presidency. After this triumphant acquittal Clay and his friends, of the foul which GeD. Jackson preferred them, and this too, on the testimony of General Jackson’s own witness, the friends of the Administration might rest satisfied. But we have the following paper. It will not be "forgotten, tintu was in the Columbian Observer th t the "immortal plot” of George Kreiner ^ Co. first saw the light. It is to here- gretted its political existence was tooshot: to permit it to see how its bantling has j thriven in the world and become the iini. versal theme of conversation for a great nation. We present our readers, to day, the conclusion of the original “ Cullen* Pale" which lias for several weeks im- parted so much interest to our Thursday's No. They will join with us in savins, that it has been well composed, and has furnished some very interesting scenes over which we might virtuously expend the exuberant sympathy of our nature.— We hope its Author has not bidden a final adieu to the Columns of the Courier. We love to find, without the arid limits o; political disputation, some green spot os which we can rest from our labors, an: in the pleasing interval drink refreshing coolness fronr the spring- of Tame . Fncv, of Mr. charge against Horsy ill is ot being without is true, that ii 1 gentlemen re< The Election. Mr. course elected Governor, any regular opposition. It some ot the counties, soint ceived even a higher vote than Mr. For syth lor Governor; but the rifgreeate of all these scattering voles will fall (hr short of (he whole number polled for the regie lar candidate. Neither is , here any doubt of the election of Mr. Gilmer to Ci We believe the vote will be “ Convention,” although the ticket received a much ngress. against u opposite greater support strong confirmatory evidence of Mr. Clay’s j than we anticipated, innocence in the annexed letter from Mr. i The Milled<'eville J n „ r , i , . AT Lean, to the editor of this paper, dated I lhc If'‘ "';P*»l» n S * Washington, Feb. 3,1823, which belongs ! parties in the Legislature, to tiiis subject, and which for that reason ' snys ’ * " ie * nencJ s of political peace and vtc republish from the original, still in our Harmony have a large majority.” Who possession. Mr. M’Lean was then one j ther they deserve such a do of the Sen t tors in Congress for this State and had every opportunity of knowing j what was going forward, and from his high i character as a man, we have the fullest j confidence in his statement, that no one af fected to believe Mr. Clay guilty, except i Mr, Kremer, whatever Mr. M’Lean’sopiu- r ion may be at present. Copy of a letter to the Editor, dated. Washington, 3d Feb. 1825. Dear Sir—No doubt you have, with astonishment, seen the cards of Mr. Clay and Mr Kremer in the Intelligencer ; the cause of those papers was a letter, said to have been written from one of the Pen nsylvania delegation, published in a Phil adelphia paper. That letter was a direct attack upon the integrity of Mr, Clay and Ins friends, and charged directly that Mr. Adams had their support upon contract,, for appointments to office, that the sup port had been offered to Gen. Jackson at the same price, hut had been rejected.— Mr. Clay, yesterday, from his Speaker’s chair, solicited an inquiry, and a com mittee is raised to day for that purpose.— ! The course was selected by Mr Clay, be cause it was the only one ; the author of the letter not being avowed, and it being said that Mr. Kreiner did not settle differ ences in the way of men of honour. I have heard two reasons assigned : one that Kremer would not fight; the other that he was not of sufficient character to be fought. It is much to be hoped that the committee will be wise and pudent, and that they may be able to light upoii some expedient to allay the hurricane and ex tinguish the flame ; if not, I should not be astorfshed if the successful candidate fbr the Presidency, should have to pass over the murdered bodies of friends and ene mies, before he reach the chair. I mean should Mr. Adams or General Jackson be the man, Mr. Crawford and his friends being looked upon as hors de combat, have little or nothing to do with the war—Mr. Clay supports Mr. Adams, and I risk But little when I say, the States of Kentucky Ohio, and Ilinois, do likewise. It is said that Missouri, Louisiana, New-York, and Maryland will also vote for him, if so he will Be elected with 13 votes. My own opinion is, that those four last mentioned State* will not vote fox him, at Jearst all of script ion, iii- will judge bv their future acts. I he following returns fur members o‘ the Legislature have been received sincr our last—he first named is Senator:— Dibit. Bauer, Lamar. Butts. Cargile, Hendricks. Crawford. Blackstone, Kin"' Coweta. Hicks, Pentecost. Dooly. Scarbrough, Scarbrough. Elbert. Allen, Heard, Tail, Davis' Emanuel. Swain, Hicks. Fayette. Cochran, Hicks. Habersham. Blair, Wofford, Chastain'. Henry. Sellers. Barnes, Glenn. Houston. Campbell, Williams. Daurens. Monre, Warren,-Si. QeorgC. Monroe. Brown, Lawhon, Phillips'. Simmons. Muscogee. McDougald, Woolfulk-. * Dike. Wilson, Gray. Pulaski. Clayton, Lanier, Danieh Troup. Sledge, Knnnon. Twiggs. Wimberley, Bunn, Durbaffir Dennard. Upson. Holloway, Sturges. Wilkinson. Beall, Wiggins, Exum Tattnall. Tillman, Seerency. M'Intosh. Poweil, Brailsford, King The following is the reply of Alex. W. Foster, Esq. candidate for State Senate in Pennsylvania, to a demand for a pledge to support Gen. Jackson for the Presi dency. Mr. Foster is a friend to the General. God grant that men of inde pendence tnay multiply, let them belong to what party they will J “ We all know how much th conduct of General Jackson has been applauded (when in his conversation with Mr. Buch anan who then stood in the’relation of an elector to him,) in refusing to give the ^lightest hint as to whom he would or would not appoint Secretary of State, let its bearing on the election be what it might, that if elected “ he would go into office free and untrammelled.” If then, it would have been dishonorable in general Jackson to have expressed his sentiments in relation to a subject which if he should be elected, would necessarily come with* re the sphere of hisoflumtl duties, euo it ha