About Georgia courier. (Augusta, Ga.) 1826-1837 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 7, 1834)
2 THE COURIER. BY J. G. M’VVHORTER. IfS—This P»p l ’ r i» published every MONDAY ivEDNESDAV and FRIDAY Afternoon, at *6 per an every FRID AY afternoon ct gn per nnnura.i n advance, or $4 at tlio expiration of jjy Subscriptions received for less time than six months. FT ADVERTISEMENTS, not exceeding a equaro will bo inserted the first tints at 75 cts. per square and 37 1-2 for each continuance. ..... ™ rr . Advertisements of ono square, published Weekly, at To e-nts for tho Grst insertion, and 50 cents,' or each con- Persons”advertising b. the year will be charged 30 dollars including subscription and will be entitled to one square In each paper. .... „ , ■ When persons have standing advertisements of several eqnares, special contracts may be made. O" N > doducticns will be made in future from these AlFadvertisemcnts must have the number of insertions marked on them; otherwise they will bo inserted till for. bid, and charged accordingly. fiIIERIFF3,CLERKS,and officers, wnlhnve 25percent.deductedin their favor. Mr. Edit >R. I have recently seen a notice in the papers of the death of Solo-, man Arnold Esq. of Farmington, Maine. ! knew him well, as an upright, intelli gent and somewhat facetious old gentle man in independent circumstances, who delighted in telling over the stories of former times, and the perils of his boy hood. He was a soldier of the Revolu tion, boing what was then called a year's flan It may be interesting to your read ers to see an anecdote of those perilous times, which is worthy of being rescued from oblivion: and which the friends of the Squire as he was geneially called,will remember io have heard him often relate. Not having at this moment by me any books to which I can refer, I cannot be particular about dates and places: but can only give the gist of the story, as nearly as posible in the Sq lire’s owu words. “I enlisted” said he “io tha Revolutionary army at about the age of eighteen,in the early part of the contest, and was placed under the command of Benedict Arnold. Ii was the most gloomy period of tbe Revolution, when Washington with his remnant of an army was retreating tlvough the Jerseys, when Sir Henry Clinton was in possession of New York,and Burgoyne of Ticonderoga,—The British comman ders had formed the plan of establishing a line of Fortifications from LakoGeorge to New York, for the purpose of cutting off the communication between the Reb els of the Erst and the south. A detach, ment of about a thousand British and To ries, under Cui. St. Leger, was sent from Ticonderoga to carry this plan into effect who in conformity with the true British policy us the period was reinforced with about the same number of Indians, bis Majesty's faithful allies. It became an object of the utmost importance to inter cept this detachment, and breakup the communication The work was assigned by Washington to Arnold, but he could spare for this important service no more than about seven hundred men. I was in this detachment.—One evening after a tedious march, we took up our quarters io a little farming village, and shortly after the halt a notorious spy was brought in o camp. His name was Cuyler,a lory and a co to boy in the employ of St. Leger. He was immediately tried by a Court Martial and I recollect well that Hull [then a Ma j.»r] was on the Court Martial. Proof was abundant and he was sentenced to death, and as time was pressing, lie was 10 be executed early in the morning. Cuy lor, was ironed, placed, in an upper cham bee, in the house where Arnold quarter ed, aud I was selected to guard the door As the prisoner’s father lived not far dis tant, lie requested ihat he might bo sent for; and at early dawn the old man, his wife de another son were introduced into the chamber. The meeting was a most affecting one. In the midst of their weep ing, Arnold happened to pass the door, and hearing the lamintations went io.— The aged mother immediately fell at his feet.and begged the life of her son—“He must die in one hour” said Arnold, and lo:t the room, Instead of passing but of tho passage, ho lingered at the door, and alter listening for a moment, began to pace backwards and forward in the pass ageway, apparently in deep thought. He again went in, and again the mother entreated—“ls there no way he can be spared—can w’C do nothing to save ’ his lifo —we will make any samifice, perform any service, only save my poor boy.” Arnold (hesitated, on perceiving which, the mother renewed her entreaties and se conded by tbe father and brother.- He at length replied, “He can be saved, but’ the condition is that ho shall preceed im. mediately to the encampment of Si. Le ger, aud inform him that Gen. Arnold is~ coming with an army of four thousand men, with artillery, dye. propared to give immediate battle.” i The prisoner professed the most cordi alacquiescence. “But you rascal,” said Arnold, I shall not trust you. If your brother to remain as a hos tege you but mark me.ho contin- ued « ; th a tremendous oath, if your re port docs not send St. Leger upon his back track your brother’s life is forfeit. All acquiesced in this but the brother, who demurred at the conditions; distrust ing perhaps the fidelity of the spy, as well ashis skill in framing areport which should produce the desired effect, The intreaties of the mother prevailed here also, and her ingenuity aided the spy in framing his •tory. Arnold perceiving th it the matter 'was arranged left the room. He had ey ed me during the scene as I stood looking in at the half opened door, and as be pass ed me, only remarked “you know your duty.” The father and jnother retired. In a few moments an officer came and transferred the irons form one to the oth er <»f the brothers, and*both were left in the room. . A""*movempnt among the men below convinced me that arrangemema were making to clear the coast.*. An old woman brought a knapsack an?T placed it beside the door of the prison room, and presently put into it a sJice of pork and a half a loaf of bread. I rett ed to a nook, yet so tba’ I could spe all that was going on. Cuyler presently shouldered the knapsack, passed out, and after dodging from the corn house to tho barn, skulked to the woods, which were near by. Arnold was confident of the success of his artifice. Having learned from the spy that St. Leger was in the vicinity of Fort Schuyler, he took up a rapid march and the next day at noon we found our selves in the British encampment. A niosl curious spectacle hero presented itself.— The artillery and baggage of the enemy was left scattered in the utmost confusion —not a tent was removed; and the fiies were actually smoking under their kettles which contained an excellent dinner rea dy cooked to our hands. They had not been gone an hour when we arrived. Our men partook heartily of the viands left by our hospitable foe, gave three cheers, and then set about clearing up tho en campment. “I afterwards learned from Cuyler the particulars of his interview with St. Lo ger. On his arrival he immediately re paired to the tent of the commander with his hat and coat pierced with bullet holes for the occasion. He found St. Leger surrounded with his officers and Indian chiefs, and proceeded forthwith to deltve his message; telling a horrible tale of his capture and escape; of the bullets which had grazed his cheek and pierced his coat; and withal that Arnold was coming on like a chafed tiger, with a force soffi cient to swallow them up. He had not finished his talc when the Indian Chiefs slunk away irt terror and anger to convey the tidings to their followers. They had been promised mnch boo.y will little fighting; and now with a prospect of b oo th fighting and no booty, they bioke out into open mutiny. Tho panic spread from the Indians and officeis t<» the com mon soldiers, and nothing could now res train them. They made their escape in the most terrible confusion, with barely their arms in their hands.” The above affair, although tiivial in it self when compared with many others, resulted in the most important events; and was one of the first of that train of cir cumstances which indicated a turn in the tide of affairs favorable to tbe American cause in the great struggle for our Inde pendence. M. S. THE DUELBISTS. A TALE OF FRANCE, 1825. Hernittn; —et dukes moriensrcminisci tur Argos!—Virgil. La vengeance cst !o plasir des dieux, et le bonheur des femmes, Proverb.. ftfercutio.—A braggart, a rouge, a vil lain! that fights by the book of At ithmetic. —Romeo and Juliet. /had hoard the celebrated Cavatina'in ‘Il Barbiere di Seviglin.’ But never till then, had that del.ghtful air been fully un derstood either by myself or the singer. But the Signore Camilla gave it such ex pression! How well she revealed to the soul, (hough’s and sensations hitherto un noticed by artists except herself. She was a beautiful girl, about sixteen, blue eyes, and a smile at once arch and tender. At first, the song commences with an avowal of love, profoundly feh and solemn even in its simplicity; in short, such an avowal as we can imagine to proceed from the lips of Spanish maids. Then the infan tine playfulness of Rosina’s disposition reflection, even when it is the offspring of passion, can never be supposed to be long the tenant < f thegiddv head of six teen. Afterwards succeeds the fantastic capriciousness of sprightly, songs; she laughs at her guardian, exults in the hope of eluding his vigilance, and, thanks to an exalted imagination, though portionless and closely watched, she can sing <>f hap ptness and liberty. Near me was seated a young Italian whose looks never wandered —no, not for an instant, from the singer; his parted lips scarcely seemed to breathe; tears glistened in his eyes, and his pale features expressed even more than the enthusiasm of admiration; it wasZove. When iho ca vatina was over, and while the house re echoed with plaudits, Camilia cast a fur* live glance towards him. It was plain that his passion was not unrequited. Oh! how I envied his felicity; for he must have been so happy to have beard the thousand prime the object of his love; he must of been so happy, on looking to see the eager gaze of admiration of all present; and then a sign from her unintel ligible to all, save him alone, a glance that sayt'as pl>.n as eye can speak,’‘this glory belongs tw you, with -nil Camilla possesses, forj Camilla* is yours.’ And then the recollection of the scarcely arti culated endearments of the embrace in which the ‘timidity of love first ventured to stamp itself.’ Oh how J envied lum: I, whom none ever loved—none! To the right of the young man was a strauger, whom, from the commencement of the opera I had more than once inward ly cursed. There was in his dress and manner, a revolting mixture of affectation and want of taste. ’ Reclining at full length on bis seat he continually elbowed his neighbors, whilst the maudlin expres sion of his lack-lustre eye betokened his intoxication, he diverted the attention of those in his immediate vicinity by the indelicacy of remat Us which he more than whispered. Moro than once he drew forth seme disapprobation and calls to order, but to these be paid no manner of attention. Whilst the lover of Camil- la was listening with heart and soul to her song he did not notice those breaches of decorum; but when the stage was occu pied by Bartello and the worthy Basil, he gentiy repressed the intrusive elbows of the stranger, I know not of what nature Was the latters retort; but I saw that flie face of the Italian was flushed and bis eyes blood shot.—He wa, however si lent. Drawing lather an incorrect omen from this instance of forbearance, the stranger in a menacing attitude raised his arm. He was anticipated, the /talian struck him. 'Serious* exclaimed they both at ooce. As they were about to withdraw, a erv rose from the bouse. For the first time I saw the young man first shudder, then hesitate. But the stranger turned round to see if he followed, and he proceeded. I can neither express nor account for the interest I felt for the lover of Cam milla; so great was it, that I followed to see the tet mination of this scene. men of rather an equivocal appearance, followed the stranger. The Italian was alone, and ever and anon looked wishfully and anxiously around. ‘You areasiran r ger; you want a second, I will stand by you in this affair,’ said I, advancing. He extended his hand and shook mine, I knew well the despair conveyed by that pressure. When the choice of weapons had been made, wo passed through sev eral lonely by streets, and left the city. Never ha'! the moonlight appeared to me so lovely as at that time. The skies wete intensely clear, and the air, redolent of the most voluptuous freshness. There was in all nature an indefinable irony of repose and happiness that added to my* sadness. Arrived at the usual resort for personal encounters, the stranger With the utmost tranquility proceeded to strip ping,tucking op his sleeves to tho elbows examining his shapened foil with the ut most attention; and throwing himself into an attitude that would have done honor to any professor of the science ofdefeoce, he smiled; I felt my very blood creep at that smile. At the very fi st pass, the Itallian fell, transfixed by his adversary’s weapon He essayed to speak, but the gushing blood prevented him; he strove to make a sign, but the convulsions of death rendered the effort abortive. — “Camilla,Camilla!” cried l;meth<>ught I felt my hand more warmly pressed; the tension of the nerves was rolaxed, his listr less limbs were stiffened, and all was o ver. In the interim, his adversary was qui etly wiping the ensanguined blade, and consuhing with his coadjutors. “Assist me,” said I, imploringly, “assist me i t transporting this unhappy man to some place where he can find succor*” The assassin eyed his victim with much the same glance that an experienced phy sician bestows on > a patient; he felt his pulse, and turning to his friends, he said, “It is time f r us to be off, he is in no need of assistanre. He is a dead man!” They left me alone beside the corpse, I fell exceedingly uneasy; I neither knew the name of tho unfortunate gentle man, nor t<> whom I should transfer his remains. Upon looking around, 1 saw, by the moonlight, something glitter: it was the clasp of his pocket book which had fallen during the preparations for the combat. it contained a miniature of Camillia, and a letter addressed to Signor Paole Frienzi. I, read it—it was a love letter—The first he had ever received from her, dated io an agitated, but evidently beautiful hand,on that very dav, it is scarce' posible to conceive the mournful sensations I cxpeitenced upon! readingthe tenddrprotestatious of a young girl by the side of me inanimate body ol her lover. Some peasants apprached. They were going to market with a wagon, J prevail ed upon them to convey the corpse ol Frienzi to town, and after having inform ed the magistrates of the event of the pre ceding night, I betook myself to the dwel ling of Camilla—Pale, but with the stern resignation of settled despair she understood at the outlet the full impor of my sad account. Without interrupting me she listened to my detai’; nor, when I had done did she say a word in com ment, I sought in her inflexible features omething to indentify her with the Rosi na of that eve; but in vain it was Neme sis embodied; she breathed out for revenge. “His name I” she said at lengli,“Zknow not” said I. “His name I” she repeated springing towards me—“ What is it; 1 will know it,” | lacing a poinard at my breas', I seized her arm, aud turned it a side “I call heaven to witness,” said I, “that I know not bis name.” “Forgive me, ah! forgive me,” said she—“you so kind, so generous—you received his la test breath—foigive me.” And then she muttered, ”n is immaterial, I shall know it.” Four jears after this occureuse, 1 made a voyage to Naples. Al night I went to ths play, the performance was the “Barber of Seville.” Rosina made her appearance, and Rosina was Sig nora Camilla. I started, and almost mechanically 1 looked around for Paolo Frienzi. His murderer was again seated at my side.— Camilla knew him at once, for she broke off in her catfalina with an excl imation, but she recovered herself immediately, and never bad 1 found her in better voice, or her action so perfect. My heart sickened at the sight of a wo man singing composedly in the presence of her lover’s assassin. It cod'd not with stand this undeniable proof of insensibili ty. I quitted the play-bowse, and saun tered about tho streets of Naples. As I returned to the Theatre la Seala, the crowd was just issuing from it. Suddenly, on turning a corner, a female who wasflying,run against me. She looked up recognised me, and uttering a wild cry she exclaimed —‘‘He is avenged”— and in her crimsoned hand that clasped mine, I felt a poinard still reeking with blood. ■ Sir Newton was once riding over Salisbury Plain, when a boy keeping sheep called to him, ’Sir, you had belter makehas e on or you willgel a wet jacket.* Newton, looking round and observing nei ther clouds nor a speck on the horizon, jogged on, taking very little notice of the rustic’s information. He had made but a few miles when a storm suddenly rising, drenched him to the skin. Surprised at the circumstance, and determined, if pos sible, to ascertain how an ignorant boy had attained a precision of knowledge of the weather of which the wisest philoso phers would bo proud, he rode back, wc: as he was. ‘J/y lad,’ said Newton, ‘l’ll give thee a guinea if thou wilt tell me bow Thou canst foretell the weather so truly.’ ‘Will ye siil 1 will then;” and the boy, scratching his head, and holding out his hand for die guinea; ‘Now sir,’ having received the money, and pointing to his sheep, *when you see that black tarn turn his tail to the wind, 'tis a sure sign of rain within an hour.’ ‘What!’exclaimed tbe philosopher, ‘must I, in order to foretell the weather, stay here and watch which way that black ram turns his tail?’ ‘Yes sir? Off rode Newton, quite satisfied with his discovery. ED MN FORREST. We find tho following well merited compliment to our dis.ioguished young townsman in an Albany paper.—“Wo in variably speak of this distinguished indi vidual, ith the most exalted emotions of pleasure. His brief history of only seven years, is one altogether unprecedented in the histrionic annals of this country—per haps of the world.—His short and bril liant career, has already thrown around him the gratitude and affection of every true American heart. In th’s extreme short period of time, he has arisen from obscurity to ao enviable fame. He has been successful beyond every expectation in elevating and placing on a firm basis, the tragic muse of the country. —He has taught us, that our wandering to foreign climes for histrionic resources, was emii e !y unnecessary; that at home, in our very midst, the subject, the author, and the ac tor are at hand.. For no one possessing even a latent spark of dramatic taste, but must acknowledge his Metamora, a finish ed specimen ofthe American Aboriginals. And what characters so interesting to us, as those who inheri ed from the God of N tore, the soil upon which our footsteps are no* 1 implanfed. Bui it is n >t of Mr. Forrest as a tra. gedian or a professional man, that we alone would speak. Ii is also for the pur pose of exhibiting his heart to tbe world, in all its varied aspects. His generous, liberal hand is always stretched forth in administering its noble charities. In our city, where the fruits of his towering ge nius were fust developed, cherished and rewarded —he e, where the little rivulet of his present exalted fame, first gushed from the fountain of his hidden faculties; here, we say, we h ive abundant evidence of bis. nobleness of soul. As an American citizen, be is an ho norable example; for he has contributed moic to encourage American talent than any other of our native citizens, with their millions at command. It is tbe utmost pride of his heart, that literature, tho es sential attribute of human happiness, .should be encouraged. His liberal dona, lion to the Young Men’s Association, is an act of generosity, which every mem* ber—yes, every Albanian—should bear in lasting and perpetual remembrance’.— We have a gicat pleasure, in being able to-day, of presenting his admirable com munication to our readers, a copy of which was kindly presented tous byihe Execu* tive ConintkiGc of that valuable institu tion. The remaining portion 6f the core respondence will be given to our next.’ Sir: The laudab'e and successful zeal you have recently evincep in the, pu pose of forming an Association for the Mutual Improvement of the Young Men of Al bany, without regard to individual condi 'ion, is alike creditable to the hearts thaf, resolved i'. Ina cnnmry like ours, where all men are “free and equal, n» aristoc racy sould be tolerated, stve only the aristocracy of superior mind, before which none need bo ashamed to bow.— Young men of all occupations, will now have a place, stored with useful know, ledge, where at tlisir leisure they may as semble for mutual instruction, and the free in'erchange of sentiment. A taste for A meric in letters should be carefully and sedulously disseminated among them and the false and parasitical opinion can* not too soon explode, which teaches, “ nothing can be so good as that, which emanates from abroad.” Our literature should be independent; and with a hearty wish that the iron fetters of prejudice which suTound it, may soon be broken, I herein enclose the sum of one hundred dollars to be appropriated solely to the purchase of books purely American, and to be placed in she library for the use of the young men of Albany. Y<»ors with much respect, EDWIN FORREST. Henry Hart, E-;q. AJbany, Blh Jan. 1834. Original Contents o f the Southern Ag riculturist, for February, 1834. Art.—On Rotation of Crops, as adap ted to the Southern Status; by J. Hamil ton Copper. Being a continuation of ‘An Essay on Rotation of Crop.*,* pub lished in the Vlth Vol. of this Journal, page 57- X. Remarks on tho origin and intro ducticn of Whitney’s Saw-Gin into the Southern States, with a Notice of some errors in the Life of Eli Whitney, by’ Professor Olmstead, contained in Silli man’s Journal; by Dr. Charles W, Capers. 70. XI. —On tlic proper construction and fixing of Water Racks, so as to prevent animals from passing the water gaps; by Thomas Parker, 76- XII. —Account of the Culture of a Corn Crop; by M. W. P. 81. Mr. Marler, of this place received at the Central Bank last Saturday, the pay ($1800) voted by (he last Session, to pur chase the freedom of his man Sam, who rendered such hazzardous and efficient service in extinguishing ’he fire on the State house. The Legislature inadver tantly we suppose, omitted in the act to manumit the Boy, so that he has for the present only changed masters, belonging now to the S’ate, Journal, THE FESTAL BOARD. Come to tbe festal board to-night— For bright eyed beauty will be there, Her coral lips in nectar steeped, And garlanded her silken hair. Come to the festal board to-night— For there, the joyous laugh of youth Will ring those silvery peals, which speak Os bosoms pure, and stainless truth. Come to the festal board to-night— For friendship, there, with stronger chain, Devoted heaats, already bound For good or ill, will bind again. I went— Nature and art their stores outpoured, Joy beamed in every kindling glance, Love, friendship, youth and beauty smiled: What could that evening’s uliss enhance I IVe parted,— And yeats have flown—But where are now, The guests who round that table met ? Rises their sun as gloriously As on that banquet’s eveit set ? How holds the chain which friendship wove?— It broke.—And, soon, the hearts it bound Were widely sundered—and, for peace, Envy and stiife and blood were found. The meniest-laugh which then was heard Has changed its tones to maniac screams, As half quenched memory lights up Glimmerings of guilt in feverish dreams. And where is she whose diamond ejes Golconda’s purest gems outshone— Whose roseate lips of Eden breathed, Say, where is she—the beauteous one 1 Beneath yon drooping willow’s shade. With eyes now dim, and lips all pale, She sleeps in peace. Read on her urn, “A broken heart.” —This tells her tale. And where is he,—that tower of strength— Whose fate with hers, for life, was joined? How beats his heart, once honor's throne, How high has soared bis daring mind ? Go to the dungeon's gloom to-night— His wasted form—his aching head—- And all that now' remains of him Lie, shuddering, on a felon’s bed! Ask you of all these woes the cause?— The festal board—the enticing bowl— More often came—and reason fl “d And maddened passions spurned conti o’. Learn wisdom then.—The frequant feast Avoid, —for lheie, with stealthy tread, Temptation walks, to lure you on, Tilt death, at last, the banquet spread. And shun, Oh! shun the enchanted cup ! Though, now, its draught like joy appears, Ere long it will be fanned with sighs, And sadly mix with blood and tears New York, Dec. 19, 1833 S. A. T. a ’ga st t FRIDAY, FEB. 7, 1834. Will our advertising, friends, by sending in their favors early, enable us to suit t‘>e hour of publication to the ever-changing Mail arrange ments? After to-morrow, the Northern Mail will arrive at 3 o'clock, P. M. and depart at 10, A. M. The Western will arrive at 10, A. M. and leave at 3, P. M. The handing their plea sant little essays, therefore, at an early hour on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays will oblige not only us, bat those of our friends in the coun try who depend on us far the news of the day. We are now two mornings without any papers on the-Northern line beyond Fayetteville. The Macdonough Jacksonian observes the failure of several papers to arrive at that’office & among them the Courier, ft is not our fault, if any person fails to receive it—it is regularly mailed at this office. The SIOOO in specie, taken from Messrs. Ufa son (f Randal's Counting Room, during the fire on Sunday night last, has been nearly ell found on a person, whose claim to it, is not as good as it might have been. We received yesteiday a remittance of Paper and Ink from Charleston, which, Major Black informed us, was the first freight, that bad come entirely thro’on the Rail Road. Robert B. Campbell, is said to be elected to Congress from S. Carolina to fill the vacancy made by th? death of Dr. Singleton. The following humor we copy from the Charleston Mercury • Dit. —It is now said that, i i consideration o( his chivalrous defence of Amos Kendall and the Kitchen Cabinet tn particular, and of his glowing eulogy upon “the Kitchens ol the Coun try” in general—Mr. Shepley, of Maine, has been presented by the Cooks proper of Wash ington. with the freedom of their dressers, en closed in a ’tin saucepan : and that old George Kretner has sent him a Dutch-oven. SAVANNAH RACES. The 4th day’s purse was won by Mr. Mont mollin’s Palsey Wallace. She won the3last heats —the first of the five heats being won by Cannibal &.2<lby Dr. Wilson’s sax e Coburg. SallyHatnil ton w-as distanced the first heat. The Club closed the Races by a Ball on Monday evening last. The following Letter, to a Commercial House in this city, being our latest from New York, we have been politely permitted to copy. New York, January 27th, 1834 Dear Sirs—The present state of things in our maikct being such as to excite great interest and alaimfor the future, we take the earliest oppor tunity to advise you on th • subject with the hope that you may be benefited by this communica tion. Cotton has continued to decline for the last sixty days, and is now at a comparatively low price. We quote Georgia Uplands, 10 a 1 lets.; Alabama, 11 a 13, New Orleans 11£ a 12£. At these prices there is very little doing and no prospect of a change for the better ct present. Our money market was never in a more de ranged state, and great embarrassment exists among all classes, paiticularly business of every j kind, inducing a general curtailment in com mercial and mercantile operations. So general is the apprehension for the future that it is al most impossible to get advances, even in paper, on cotton, sugar, .or indeed any other article of export or consumption. Bank exchanges on New Orleans and Mobile, 2 per cent, and on the Western States. 2$ per cent, discount. Ex change on England at par and even less, and on France 6 per cent, discount; —a state of things almost without paralel in the history of our country. In this alarming state of things—the great sta ple, of our country depressed, business of every kind paralized, and confidence destroyed, our merchants have, with one voice, petitioned Con giessfor immediate relief, by settling the diffi culties between the Government and the U. S. Bank*, by rechartering that institution with mod ifications; or by creating a new bank, without which we see nothing but increasing embarrass ment throughout our country, and such an en tire overthrow of credit as will seriously affect tbe mercantile community at large. . Feeling, as we do most deeply, the necessity of a United States Bank, to regulate and make uniform the currency ofthe country, our inter ternal and foreign exchanges, and to render the operations of trade more stable and certain, we cannot but hope our friends in every part of the country, who view the subject without reference to party, and solely on its own merits, will join us in memorializing Congress on this subject. No part of our country has more at issue on this question than our friends at the South, who must feel in the depreciation of their great sta ple, and in the difficulty of money negotiations, the evils which it lias always been «he province of a National Bank to obviate and prevent. May we not hope then that you will feel on this subject as we do, and lend your influence in immediately procuring a memorial to Con gress on this subject from your fellow-citizens. Very respectfully, your friends and servants. Fellow Citizens.— Read the following Resolu tions, which we copy from the proceedings, of three Meetings of CnionMen in South Carolina, and see to what be -uteous results,Nullification is leading in our Sister State. How zealbus should the Chronicle and Sentinel be in forwajrd ing the success of so good a cause in Georgia. Go on, good and faithful servants—-the people will reward you, bye and by. Therefore Resolved, That the law (for the Milliiary Organization of the Siattj is unconstitutional, null und avoid,and there fore has no claims to the respect and obe - diettce of the citizens of this State. Resolved, Tha we will not seivcctj dor any officer but such as we elect, aid who will not take the Oath. Resolved, That we recommend to dur brethren in oppression, to be active and persevettng in the uso of all const iju tional means to preserve our liberties, and finally to be prepared, as far as possible, fpt the ultima rati • legnm. That a firm and consistent devotion to tbeConsiitution o?thi» State and <>f the United States is the only allegiance due by an American citizen. Resolved, That the Test Oath, as passed by the last Legislature, is she off spring of Monarchy and Depotimt, and we will opposejit by all legal and 'honor able means. Resolved, That wo will support tho cause us liberty to the utmost of our pow er, by oppo ing all tyrannical measures, that the dominant party may attempt to impose upon us. . .' Resolved, That he late proceedings of theLegislatute appear to us as the decrees of an Eniporo’,dictated to his PrimeMm ister, aud by him to the miscalled Legis lature. , • Resolved, That We View the’conduct'of the leading nullitiers as treasonable, from first to last, and as worthy of our utmost contempt. Resolved, That we agree with Qtir friends in Greenville,that the Union Cun vention ought to be called,to devise iomo plan of general action to counteract those tyranical encroachments. Z?esj/uer/,That we will support tJieCon solution of .hisSta'e(without anjendmen*) and of the United Sta es; and we dveip the piesent Administration woithy of support of every Republican at tho prtp. ent crisis. , We are Mountain Boys, and we er ourselves as free as William Tell, aad like him. if we are competed to shoot o ne arrow at one of our lie h and blood, have another lor 1..u huait ui the tyid (1 { who has forced us into so cine! a situ a . tiop. Therefore Resolved, That as freeman and h iving our liberty, lives and propdr- * ty secured to us by the Constitution o f tbe United States and of this State, ty o can never bn fin end to take any Oa h consistent with our rights under, and o up obligations to the Constitution ofthe (j. ■ States; and as we regard fho Test Oaf|j of Allegi.mca, required by the Legisl a , tore of this State, as such objectionable Oaths, we never will take the same. Resolved, That we will never ob B y any officer who may take iho Test Out}), Resolved, That if any fines, or oth OT penalties ofthe Military Bill are attempt, ed to be forced upon as by the dominant party iu the State, we will resist force by force. Resolved. That we recommend th o immediate call of the Union Convention, Resolved, That we advise the Party in this Dis rict, and in lhe State, go prcpaied for the worst consequences A . Resolved, That we'g j to the death' qa defence of such of such of our officers as we may, by our owo free suffrages, elect to command us. ’ Resolved, That our rallying worda shall be “Washington and Union.” in de fence of which we will be at all times rea dy to lay down our lives. ’ Resolved. That we will go hand io hand with Greenville in her patriotic re sistance to tyranny and oppression. Resolved, That we never will muster under anv officer who will wear the PaU| motto Button, or any thing like it—anH that-we will never do military duty und<H any other Flag than the Star-Spanglcß Banner, which glorious standard nol waves over us. Resolved, That under that Flag wl| were born, and under that Flag we atH resolved to live and die. Resoled, That we wish no conceaH men 1 or disguise of our unalterable detefl minatioos: We therefore request
