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occasional sigh, heaved tip from the great deep of her heart bv the tempest raging there. While thus absorbed in the contem plation of her own peculiar situation, and unconscious of all things else but the bitter anguish of her own crushed and stricken heart, the clank of a chain caught her ear, and broke the reverie in which she was buried. Looking up, she saw a few rods above her an Indian quietly fastening lhs canoe to a tree.justat the mouth of the small creek, and standing in it, as if just arisen from his seat, a tall and powerful man gaz ing upon her, as if entranced with the un expected vision before him. A bright blush, a fluttering heart, and a trembling frame, all spoke eloquently the maiden’s agitation. Her first impulse was to fly—but as rising with this intention, she caught a more com manding view of the young stranger, yet standing as if fixed to the spot on which he stood, a light seemed suddenly to break up on her memory. “ Can I dream !” said she musingly —“ Is not the hope too bright to be realized 1 ’tis but an allusion.” She turned as if she would have retreated from the place, but was arrested in her purpose by a deep, rich voice calling upon her to stay. She had hardly turned again in the direction of the speaker when she found him at her side. “ Pardon this intrusion, I pray you,” he ex claimed, “and be not alarmed; you have noth ingtofearin listening tomy words. I should not have ventured to disturb your meditations, or have broken so obtrusively upon your p riva cy.butforthe apparent agitation under which you labored, and the deep sighs that escap ed you, when unconscious of the presence of a stranger, you sat upon the rock before us; and when startled by the noise made by my guide, you arose before me, “timid as the trembling fawn,” a bright and lovely vision, such as my young heart has often fainted upon imagination’s glowing canvass, would still have gone, hut I stood bound to the spot, incapable of action, and afraid to stir, lest the vision should pass away and leave me as often before, the victim of dis appointment.” Ellen, unaccustomed to words so kind and flattering, felt the warm blood coursing its rapid current to her heart, and a sudden faintness came upon her. But quickly recov ering, she turned full upon the stranger,and witli a soft blush mantling her face replied, “ Sir, your words assure me I have noth ing to fear, and I feel that it is true. But yet strange as it may seem to you, 1 believe wc have met before. When I first saw you in that canoe, the impression upon my mind was one of recognition, and I paused, but I could not recall the time, and place, and name—doubt came upon me, and I turned to leave you; the voice bidding mo stay, I thought too, 1 had heard before—though not so full and rich as now—and though I cannot tell whether my memory has deceiv ed me, yet I donotfeel as if 1 conversed with a stranger. We surely have met before, though it must have been years ago, and in other lands.” “ My own feelings prompt me to the same conclusion,” responded the young man, “ though my recollection is strangely at fault —but that all doubt may at once be remov ed, I will frankly tell you who 1 am, as I can have no motive for concealment from you. lam a native of Albemarle county, Virginia, the son of Colonel ltoger Searcy —my own name is Herbert.” “ Herbert Searcy ! can it be possible ! do I indeed find in you the playmate of my childhood I I surely dream.” “ ’Tis a waking dream, however,” he re plied, “ and now it becomes me to be aston ished, for I am sure I shall find in you the long lost Ellen Hayward.” “ The same,” said Ellen—“ but why call me the long lost 1” “ Because since you left Virginia, none of your friends, not even your relatious, have heard a word concerning you, though the most diligent search and enquiries have been made for you.” “ Well —this is strange, very strange. True, none of my relations ever cared to answer my letters, though I have several times written to them, and to other frieuds, but I could never satisfactorily account for their remaining unanswered.” A meaning smile played upon Herbert’s face, as be asked, “ Did you never ask your uncle the cause 1” “ Yes,” she said, “ but he always told me that they cared nothing for me —that 1 vyas an orphan, and pennyless —they were rich and powerful, and would consider it a de gradation to notice me at all/’ “ And did you believe it ?’’ asked the young man, fixing his dark and searching eye upon her innocent and guileless face. “ No,” she answered, “ 1 never could be lieve it—l never could suppose that any per son could be so unfeeling and bad as he. re presented them to be. But for a long time 1 have not spoken to him upon the subject.” “And does your uncle George Hayward live near this place 1” asked Searcy. “ Yes, he lives in the house upon the hill above us. But for some cause which I never could ascertain, ever since he left Virginia, he has gone by the name of Matthew Darnell.’ “ And did he make you change your name, also 1” . . . , “ No,” she replied, “he wished it done, but when I refused he did not insist but he has never called me any thing else but simply, Ellen.” . “Can you tell me where your uncle is now! “He left home soon this morning, and was to have been back by noon. He had not arrived, however, when 1 left tho house, but has I think by this time. Would you like to see him ?” “ Not to-day,” said Herbert, “ and I think he has no desire to see me. But as this must appear strange language to you, 1 will reveal to you some facts, of which you have been kept hitherto ignorant.” He then iu formed her of those circumstances in the history of her uncle, with which the reader has been made acquainted. “ I pursued him when he fled from Virginia, as far as Cheraw, in South Carolina, there I was put upon a wrong track by some persons desi rous to screen him from justice, and he final ly escaped me. I returned borne unsuccess ful. Your friends were deeply chagrined at your loss, and very soon instituted a tho rough search for you, but to no purpose. Advertisements were published in the pub lic Gazettes, and large rewards offered for your restoration, but all alike were unsuc cessful. No account <>f you was received, no discovery was made ; until finally, all hope was given up, and the estate left you by your father, and of which your uncle was executor, was turned over by the Court in to the hands of my father as trustee for your use, and in the event that you were never found to claim it, it was to be distributed to your nearest relations. Recently,however, an individual whohasbeen traveling extensively through this state, and who was acquainted with some of the circumstances, of your uncle's flight—gave my father such informa tion as induced him again to institute a search for you. The information received, led me to the lower part of this state, upon the seaboard; there I have been since March last, until about three weeks ago I came to this part of the IState, more with a desire to look at the lands and ex plore the country than with any hope that I should be successful in finding you. I fell in with that Indian there in Greensboro’, and finding him intelligent and shrewd, I hired him as a guide, for a month. With him I have penetrated the nation for many miles, examined all the most desirable por tions contiguous to the largest streams, and was only now intending a descent of the Apalachee to its junction with the Ocone. There I expected to bid farewell to my faithful guide, and take my departure for my home in Virginia. In passing the point of land yonder, your form, seated upon this rock, was brought full in view ; as we ap proached you, I saw your agitation, and heard a sigh escape your bosom. The sight of a lone female, agitated and distressed, situated as you were, upon the borders of a wild and savage country, appealed to my feelings as a man, and demanded my pro tection. I pointed the Indian to the shore, and our light canoe in a moment rested at the spot it occupies. The noise of the chain first drew your attention and aroused you to a sense of the presence of a stranger. You arose, and throwing a timid glance towards the spot I occupied, for the first time reveal ed your features to me. I thought it the face of an angel, a being far too beautiful for earth, and I stood, bound by the spell that was on me. But when you turned to go away, that spell was broken, and leaping from the boat at a single bound, I called upon you to stay, resolved to know more of your sorrows, and Ar you my protection. And now that 1 find in you, the object for whom I have long sought, the offer of that protection I trust will be received by you kindly and with confidence.” For some time Ellen was too much agita ted to reply. Many a daik mystery in the conduct of Darnell was now explained ; and not the least exciting was the violence of his conduct in the course he had pursued towards her in reference to Frank Huddles ton. The reason for that conduct she now well undcrstr>od. It was that he might make Huddleston, by maniige with her, the legal claimant of hei large patrimony, which he, as her guardian could not claim, without laying himself liable to a criminal prosecution. Her heart bounded with joy at the prospect of deliverance from one so base and inhu man. Her mind was active in comparing the present with the past —the unexpected joy of the one, with the unalloyed misery of the other, the bold and lawless love of Hud dleston, w ith the respectful, yet gallant offer of protcctian by Searcy. There could be but one answer, and yet the modesty of the maiden lent its restraint to her words, as raising her head, yet with eyes bent upon the ground, she replied : “ Sir, I know not in what language to clothe the thoughts that agitate my bosom. An ignorance of the circumstances by which I am surrounded, upon your part, forbids the nnswer my heart would give.” “ 1 trust you will not refuse me your con fidence,” eagerly spoke Herbert—“ I know that I have no right to claim it, yet my own happiness is so deeply involved in yours, that I would sincerely request that as a favor, which I dare not insist upon as a right. Tell me, Miss Hayward, all of your history, and especially that part of it, as much of it at least as it may be prudent for you to reveal, that will explain the agitation of feeling un der which you were laboring at the time I first saw you.” “ The strange transition that has passed upon me, both in feeling and circumstances, has so excited my mind that I feel incompe tent now to the answer; and yet my heart urges me on, and I will obey its voice. I stand before you an injured, persecuted girl, whose” An approaching footstep from above, and a low whistle from the Indian, caught her ear and arrested her words—some person was approaching them. The Indian had already loosed his canoe from its moorings and sat with his paddle ready for action. Herbert Searcy, catching Ellen by the hand, hade her farewell, saying as he did so—“ It may be your uncle, and I am not ready yet to meet him. I will see you here or below the ferry again on to-morrow. My signal will be the barking of a dog—my guide there imitates it well—then I will hear that, which you would now have told me, but for this untimely interruption. But I must a wuy.” And quick as thought he bounded to the canoe. The Indian plied a bold and rapid oar, and gliding down the liver they were in a moment more out of sight. The canoe was scarcely hidden behind a bending tree, which dipped its friendly blanches down to the waters edge, when Matt Darnell stood before his niece. He saw at a glance that something unusual had oc curred, tor Ellen trembled violently, and her countenance was expressive of her feelings. “ Who has been here 1” said Matt, gruff ly, “ someone has just left you—else why this excessivo agitation I Tell me quickly who has been with you ?” There was anxie ty and alarm in every movement, and Ellen saw in it all a strong confirmation of what she had just heard concerning him. The last vestige of regard forhim or his authority had now been removed from he rmind.and she promptly resolved to break with him at once, and avow her independence of his authority. “ Sir,” said she, firmly, “ when you show me by whose authority you hold the right to command me thus, it will then be time enough for me to obey.” “ 1 have the authority of your father—the B<D U V HUB IR R mU.B(O IB &A St “STa authority of an uncle—and that authority shall be respected.” “ When my father made you the guardi an of his only child, and that child an orphan daughter, did he confer upon you, the power of the master over the slave —the powerto force me against my will, and bend me to your wishes—the power to make me the victim to be sacrificed at the altar of avarice, that through another you may accomplish that, which you dare not do yourself? An swer me truly—did my father confer such authority—-or is this the authority of the uncle ?” She spoke bitterly, yet calmly—and Matt Darnell felt to his heart’s core, the point and edge of every word. He saw that he had gone too far—that he had aroused the energies of a temper and spirit, stern and unyielding as his own—that lie had sprung a mine upon himself, terrible in itsexplosion, end which if he was not quick and cautious, would terminate in the destruction of all his plans. He was conscious some person lmd been with Ellen, that she had been made acquainted with facts of which she was before ignorant, and that if he accom plished his purposes at all, it must be done quickly, and without her consent. Arriving at this point, he ceased all further attempt to make her answer, and carelessly remark ed : “ Well, well, it is no great matter any way; young girls, as well as old ones, are wilful creatures, and will have their way, and you are resolved not to be an exception to this general rule. Go to the house, and wander not alone so often upon the river hank ; there may be danger in it.” Ellen di<l not wait to repiy, but left him and sought her way to the house. Darnell proceeded to the water’s edge, and examin ed closely every part of the bank. At the mouth of the small creek he saw the foot print of (he Indian in the sand, at the spot at which the canoe had touched the land. Looking yet more narrowly, he found the deep impression of a shoe in the sand, as if a person had leaped from a canoe, and that track lie traced to the rock on which he found Ellen. His conjectures were now confirmed, and bis worst fears alarmed. He knew the truck of the Indian, (for he had seen it often before) to belong to Cbemicko, an Indian chief of the Courts tribe, and his enemy ; but of the other be was wholly ignorant. He left the place, slowly ascend ing the hill, revolving all the circumstances in his mind, and arrived at the house before he had come to any satisfactory conclusion about it. (To be Concluded in our next.) A touching incident. —ln Hamburg, as in most of the German towns, the chinch stee ples are provided w ith musical bells, which play generally at 12 o’clock, and in the eve ning. During the recent conflagration, the bell player of the church of St. Nicholas, aged about seventy, unwilling to quit the stony castle, quietly watched the tide of the men- below. No one thought of the poor old guardian of the house, until while the steeple was wrapped in flames, the bells sounded out the well known German choral, which usually concludes the protestant ser vice, “Now prnise ye the Lord.” The next moment the musician and bells, were buried in a fiery grave, under the fallen ruins of the steeple. Interesting Experiment. —Place several small pieces of camphor gently in a bason of pure water, and with a red hot wire ignite them as they float; —the lumps will shoot about the surface in various directions, j>er forming many comical antics, exhibiting a lively dunce of fire-balls.— Am. Mechanic. An Excellent Plan. —The Western Rail Road Company are about fitting up some cars for that road, with linings of ice, in which fresh beef, veal, fish, and fruits may l*e transported fresh and in perfect order, during the heat of summer. These cars are to accompany the passenger trains, go ing from Albany to Boston in 12 hours. By this arrangement the people of Berkshire will find a ready market for their green peas, cucumbers, and whortleberries, and even the hunters of Michigan may send their venison to Boston and exchange it for hali but and lobsters.— Am. Mechanic. Definition. — Apothecary. —A man who mixes drugs of which he knows little, to pour into a l>ody of which he knows less, to cure a disease of which he knows nothing. Voltaire. Aristocracy.— Expletive members of the body politic, upon whom nobility seems to descend for no other reason than because they could not, through any merit of their own, ever expect to elevate themselves to it.— Anon. Attorneys. —Legal practitioners that bear, with reference to barristers, the relation that apothecaries bear to physicians—with the exception that they do not like the latter deal in scru/des. [Rabelais.] Knaves whose robes are lined with the obstinacy of their clients.— Old Writer. Arrogance. —A weed that ever groweth on a dunghill. [Owen Feltham.] A fallaci ous habit of ascribing a premium of a thou sand per cent, to the imaginary capital of our own merits, a thousand per cent, dis count to the actual pretensions of our com petitors.—Anon. Arithmetic. —A science differently stu died by fathers and &>ns, the former gene rally confining themselves to addition, the second to subtraction.— -Lady Blessington. Matrimbn >j. —Some men think themselves very clever in tantalizing their wives—some, unpossessed of feeling themselves, may not understand how a vile word or stupid act can vex a keener soul; but it is meet they know and remember this—there is no great er crime than to take a womau from her father’s heal th, where she stood in blooming independence, to load her with the cares of a family, and then to trample on her hopes by proving that he is no better than those for whom she never cared or sighed—that he is no worthier than those who were for gotten in her dreams, and past unheeded as she clung with fondness to his arm. Chil dren of disappointment, why do women consider their lovers the choicest among the sous of men f MfisooHLaimy. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING AT THE VERY LOW- PRICE OF TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM —ONE DOL LAR AND FIFTY CENTS FOR SIX MONTHS IN ADVANCE, MADISON, GEO : Saturday, July 9, 1843. OUR AGENTS. Mr. Richard O. Echols baa been employed ns n Travelling Agent for the “ Southern Miscellany.” He ia fully authorized to solicit subscribers, advertisements and job work, and to receipt for moneys due this office. Mr. Echols will visit many portions of Georgia and Alabama in the course of tlie present summer, and we hope all those who feel any interest in our enterprise will render him such assistance as may be beet calcu lated to materially increase our subscription list. Mr. S A. Holmes, General Newspaper Agent, is our authorized Agent for the City of Augusta. ELLEN. We take pleasure in laying before out readers to-day the commencement of this interesting Tale. It was written some two years ago by one of our most valued cor respondents, for the “Augusta Mirror.” The plot is good, and the characters so well introduced and admirably sustained, that we fancy no one will read the chapters giv en in this number without feeling a strong desite to see the conclusion of the story. AN ORIGINAL TALE. \V e are highly gratified in being able to state, that an esteemed lady contributor has an original Tale in preparation for this pa per. It will be received shortly, and we will take the earliest opportunity of laying it before our readers. They may expect something good. TIIE FOURTH AT WELLINGTON. An account of the proceedings at Wel lington, on the Fourth, will be given in our next. JOTIIAM HOTCHKISS, It will l>cen seen by reference to his let ter, is still in the land of the living. We are glad he is so comfortably situated, and hope ere long to receive an article from his pen on “ Agricultur.” “ THE MAGNOLIA,” For June, has been received, and will re ceive our attention next week. • OUR UMBRELLA Has gone astray, and we will be thank ful for any information concerning it. It is of little value, and we are only anxious 4 to regain it forthesake of preserving the queer pictur with which it is embellished. Its re turn to this office will be duly acknowledg ed. TIIE “ORION.” This is a neat monthly, got up in imitation of the Knickerbocker, and printed in New York especially for the Southern maiket, 1 edited by W.C. Richards, formerly editor of a work entitled “Georgialllustrated.” We cannot but regard it as vastly compli mentary to Southern enterprize and talent, that we should be considered so preemi nently dull and stupid that we are incapa ble of printing and publishing our own liter ature; nor can we view with complacency such an effort to forestall the Southern pub lic with Northern works under Southern titles, and to supplant those literary enter prizes which are already making among us. If the work in question had merit of a high order to recommend it, if it was intrinsical ly superior to our own magazines, we might find it in us to bow before its somewhat arrogant pretensions, for the good our peo ple would derive from it; but the Orion has not this redeeming quality; in no respect is it entitled to precedence, and in the main features of a Southern literary magazine it is behind the Literary Messenger, the Com panion, or Magnolia. In the degree that it approaches an imitation of a deservedly popular Northern magazine in external ap pearance, in the same degree do we hold it farther away from the proper aim of a Southern periodical. \Ve are not grown up children to be tickled with pictures, and big plain reading, and pretty white paper, al though these are excellent in their way; but for heaven’s sake, let us have something original—something bold—something as un like our neighbors as possible; or if we are to be content with mere imitations, why, for the sake of economy, let us patronize the originals at once—arid away with your high priced Southern imitations of Northern journals. Wc had rather pay five dollars for the Kickerbocker of one hundred pages of good matter, than tho same price for the Orion of sixty four pages. But, revenons, as the author says. The June number of this magazine reach ed us on the 2d instant, too late for a notice in our last Miscellany, accompanied by a slip in which wo are informed that tho plate intended for it “not being finished in time for seasonable issue, is postponed until the July number.” The omission of the plate, says the editor, “is merely to save ourself and readers from the mortification of a very late issue.” How his readers will relish the publication of “Georgia Illustrated” with out illustrations, we are not prepared to say —of one thing, however, we are quite cer tain—they, the editors and his readers, have not been spared said mortification, unless July be considered by them, not “a very late issue.” Such a subterfuge is even more provoking than that which accompanied the last number, and we would advise the editor in future to have a blank leaf left for the date, and when the work is received in Penfield from his New York publishers, he can fill it up for the month in which it is sent to his subscribers. We have said this much of the delay of the Orion, in order to remind the editor who is so fearful of “for feiting his claim to punctuality,” that such little circumstances have a natural tendency to produce the'consequence he so much dreads—and now to the merits of the work. The first article in the number before us, is a continuation of “The Trysting Rock,” of which the first two chapters were quite enough for oui taste —it is a tale of Tallu lah, in Georgia, but in this, as in every thing else from the same source, Sir Henrys and other great John Bulls figure largely; and in a twinkling the author bears you off with him to England, that country in which our readers feel such a lively interest, and which is so closely allied to every thing belonging to Southern literature, and the illustration of our State. Our acquaintance with it ex tends no farther, so that we have nothing to say of the portion contained in the June number. “ What is Eeauty follows, and is a so-so sort of rhyme—but only so-so. “ The origin of slave labor in Georgia ,” by Dr. Stevens, is a very excellent article, indicating much research into the early his tory of the Colony of Georgia, and afford ing the reader a very correct view of the policy pursued by the Trustees, and its practical effects in the lingering condition of the Colony until experience taught them the impracticability of their theory, and induced a change of measures. Besides containing much statistical information, the article is ’replete with sound and logical reasoning, clearly establishing the deductions drawn from the facts presented, “Ist, that the ex clusion of negroes was a principal cause which retarded the growth of the colony ; and, 2d, that their introduction was its civil and political salvation.” “ Lights and Shadows of the Heart." — This is the third number of a series of arti cles, which the author calls “ a touching se ries of papers,” hut which presents to our eyes rather, more of the shadows than the lights. Touching indeed ! we should like to know where they touch the editor—cer tainly not in the region of his head or heart. By “touching,” thus used, we understand something which causes a vibration of the chords of feeling, something which raises emotions; a pathetic strain excites our sym pathy—an heroic appeal arouses our patriot ism, and so on ; but these puerile attempts at the exquisite in style, such as fear-thrill, passion-cloud, and a thousand other affecta tions intolerable in prose composition, touch us in a peculiar manner, producing that nau seating sensation so difficult to describe and so unpleasant to experience : yet, in this way alone, can these sketches be called touching. “ To a Flying Swan in the vale of the Hu ron” breathes the spirit of true poetry. We have rarely met with a richer treat than the perusal of this exquisite little poem afforded us. “ The Miser's Curse” —a tale to be contin ued—appears to be written with spirit; we observe, however, that it abounds in sound ing titles, great personages, places, et cetera —all so interesting to Georgia readers.— When it is concluded we will give our opin ion more fully. “ The Bardolphian Nose,” by Dr.Caruth ers, is a nosological article in which noses are very cleverly handled by the Doctor, who, as every body nose, nose how to acquit himself in whatevei he undertakes with the pen. “ A Farewell,” by D. A. Chittenden, is another beautiful gem which goes far to re deem the dullness of the number. There is originality as well as poetry in the fol lowing : “ But sadder thoughts Are mingled with my parting! Shall it be, That from the hearts of those whom I have loved, My memory shall fade, ns does the shadow Cast by an eagle’s wing upon the wave When the bird passes ? Is there not a heart Will dwell upon my Dame, as that of one Who was, and still is dear ? If such there be, Bnght be their destiny! and may the thought Be as an amulet to guard the heart From each and every ill! Be the bright star That dawned on their nativity ne’er dimmed By Sorrow’s cloud ! their lake of Life ne’er swept By adverse winds or storms! their path through Time Bright as the blissful dreams a maiden hath When thinking of her lover; and their end More glorious than the vision of pure bliss That greets tho dying saint! Pair friends! bright land— A brief, yet kind farewell!” ‘ The remainder of the number, except a sonnet or so which we never read, is occu pied by the editor. This department of the “ Orion” is unpardonably “ stale and un profitable.” Wc had seen Mr. Matthews* copy-right speech “ used up” in some ten or twenty fashions long ere the Orion reached us, and the Knickerbocker had given us all the point or pith to be gathered from “ The World of London,” some months since. In the editor’s exclusive department, however, we havesomethitigrare—and important,too, if it liad been in season. Speaking of June, he says, “It is the first month of summer, (!)- and on the 21st day the Sun entets Cancer, the fourth sign of the Ecliptic, aud hencefor ward for three months is in perigee, and his ‘ perpendicular heat’ renders our planet at least this quarter of it—a warm berth.” We suspected the sun was cutting some capers during the past hot weather, but not having our almanac by us, it never occurred to us that he was entering Cancer. What a pity we had not the Orion in season ! But these are not the only important items of information which we are enabled to glean from the Editor’s Department. In “ Notes of a month's tour on the seaboard,” he gives us his “Jottings Down” about Savannah r St. Mary’s, Jacksonville, Darien, and there away, where he has most probably been in search of subscribers to the Orion. These “Notes,” which occupy some five pages of the number are exceedingly dull and com mon-place, and in some instances extreme ly impertinent. Darien fares worse than the rest. “ Darien!” says the editor, “ Alas, we are tired of the place ; and yet Fate compels us, it seems, to remain here two whole days lon ger.” He saw nothing but “ sand and sand flies” in Darien. No good society—poor fellow, what a deplorable situation was his! “Os the society in Darien,” says he, “we can say little—and in truth there is little to be said. The population is too fluctuating to allow the existence of the best society.— Where people live only half the year, there is little inducement to cultivate intellectual and refined tastes.” We judge, from the last sentence, that the inhabitants were not sufficiently intellectual to appreciate “ O-rion,” or its editor. But he discovered an oasis in the intellectual des ert of Darien—one kindred spirit, to whom he could communicate his thoughts—whose’ taste was congenial, and who was capable’ both of appreciating and sympathising with the forlorn tourist. Thus he describes the grateful interview: “ Stepping, this morning, into the shop of Emanuel Wand, a gentleman of color who styles himself ‘the seientificant barber of Darien,’ we exclaimed half aloud—‘Well! Darien is the last place in the world.” ‘“You’re right dere sir,’said the sable hair dresser— ‘ and if ’dis child had no ’cum brances—no wife and children—he. would bid it ’due for ever to-moorow.’ “We applauded the spirit of the ‘scien tificant barber,’ and rejoiced inwardly that we hnd no ‘cumbrances’ of the kind he mentioned, that bound us to Darien.” Now, wc are not particularly informed of the society of Darien—it being many years since we were there—but we have seen people from the place who made some pre tensions to gentility, and have understood that some of the best families incite State re side in and about this same “ last place in the world.” We fear the editor, like most of his countrymen, makes sad work of jour nalizing. But, to use his own favorite ex pression, Au revoir ! CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH. The birth-day of Republican Freedom was, according to previous arrangement, celebrated by the Washingtonians in a style worthy of the day and the cause of Tem perance. We have never participated in exercises at our national festival, which were better arranged or conducted in abet ter spirit. It gives us renewed confidence in the stability of our free and happy govern ment to see such a devotion to the popular welfare, as was manifested by our fellow citizens on this occasion. The comparative few whom we saw together on Monday, could of course effect but little in establish ing the character of our government, or re forming the habits of millions of people; but we have seen by intelligence from every part of the Union, that arrangements similar to those which were made for our celebra tion, were general throughout the country. And it is because we consider the spirit of our little town, the same as that which ani mates the bosom of the nation, that we re joice in it, as promising future glory and prosperity to “aland beloved o’er all the earth beside.” There seems to us to be a peculiar fitness in celebrating the anniversary of our politi cal independence upon the principle of the Washingtonians. Their object, and as we believe, their only object is, to deliver their countrymen from the bondage of a vicious, enervating, and destructive practice—a practice, which, if it should continue to pre vail, will, we have reason to fear, stifle and corrupt the moral sensibility of the people, and destroy the tone of public moral senti ment, until we shall become unfit for self government, and the ruin of our Republic will furnish a cause of triumph to the friends of tyrants, and render popular liberty a by word through coming ages. The ruinous, blighting, damning effects of intoxicating, drink is too evident to be disputed by ans who have given the subject a thought.. Tito*-