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& JFaroUg ilrtosim#cv : Zlrfeotclr to Elterature, tfie &rte, Science, Sericulture, JUecftuniCKS, lalmcntion, iForeisn aulr ©omeotic KtitclUsence, Rumour, sct. BY C. R. fIANLEITER, IP © E T R Ya “ Much yet remains unsung .” From die New Orleans Picayune. INFANCY. The sleeping babe ! O, there divinity Is living pure within the human breast) ’ Tis innocence ! and 0 ! in it we sen Promise and semblance of our future rest. ‘The smiling babe ! upon its mother’s knee, With fairy mirth just raying from its eye, ‘Emblem of bright intelligence to be, When years of infancy are all gone by. ’The balmy breathing whispers of above, HVarm from the sky with fragrancy of love; -And better has the heart of manhood grown, ‘When tiny infant fingers clasp’d his own. ‘O, then goes up, the mother’s heart to heaven, For joy, delicious joy, to woman given. © 030@Q M/&L T^\L[E o For the “Southern Miscellany.” THE MYSTERIOUS LOVER. The beautiful Caroline at twenty years of age had been a widow for more than a year; and to say the truth she re tained but a feeble remnant of regret for her departed lord. Yet we must do her the jus tice to observe that the gentleman well de served this indifference. It was fortune alone that had induced him to seek herhar.d, and during the short pet iod of their union he had managed to lose a great part of hers, and the whole of his own, in one of the ruinous hanking operations of the period. But this circumstance was not generally known, and Caroline passed with most per sons for a rich young widow—though in reality she possessed nothing more than a modest competence; quite sufficient, how ever, to satisfy her desires, if shared with one she loved, she being at that age when dreams of love in a cottage are in fullest force. Educated in the country by her father, whose pride and pet she was, and allowed the free range of a library richly furnished with works of imagination, she had early stored her mind with romantic ideas and on ly seen the world through their golden per spective. When therefore she discovered that in place of a gallant and devoted lover, she had gained a husband whose whole soul was devoted to the acquisition of wealth, and who regarded her as an useless cipher, what wonder that the delicacy of her senti ments was wounded, and that she but half regretted a man so little worthy of her? Caroline was of an enthusiastic tempera ment —no one ever yielded more readily to the caprices of imagination ; indeed she be longed to that class of impressible ladies \vhom novel reading has prepared for any sort of adventure. She had more than once remarked a fash ionable young man in the public walks, who looked at hes with much apparent interest. He had one of those wasp-like forms which distinguish the city dandy, the affected gait, deep fringe of beard around the face, and in fact all those peculiarities which to an eye, experienced in these matters, points out what is usually denominated, a lion, though in habits and appearance the animal more closely approaches the monkey tribe. At length accident, or what appeared as such, procurer! him an introduction, and his elegancies and accomplishments were not wasted on Caroline, whose heart was soon touched with them. He played the guitar with truly Spanish grace, and a few nights passed under her windows, completed the conquest. From that pet iod his attentions became unceasing, for as Caroline had the reputation of being rich, and his own affairs were not in the most flourishing state, he had resolved to re-establish them by the due expedient of matrimony. Before utterly committing himself, however, he managed to obtain from a mutual friend an exact statement of her finances, and although no lover was ever more disinterested, and her •grace and beauty were all in all to him, still, the information thus gained proved so un satisfactorily that he suddenly departed for London to witness the coronation of Vic toria, and avoid importunate creditors in his own land. Deeply insensed at this conduct, Caroline had a violent attack of misanthropy, and yielding more than ever to her love of soli tude, she set off - with only one attendant for a little country seat on the sea coast, where in her childhood she had passed many hap py days with her father. At first she applauded her resolution. A sea view rarely loses its charm, and spring, calling forth flowers and awaking the songof birds, for a while seemed a delicious novelty when contrasted with the artificial life of cit ies. But after passing a month in the full enjoyment of this rusticity, a deep melan choly seized her—she fell ill—long walks fatigued her perfume of flowers be came insupportable, ah’d the singing of birds raade her head ache. In i2<* she was pro digiously weary of the whole’ concern, and wondered at her former contentment. One evening as returning from a lonfdy and melancholy stroll, she passed through a thick grove near her house ; she thought ahe perceived the figure of a young man through the trees. An elegant frock coat, at least, she distinguished—closely buttoned around a form much resembling that of Frederic; but the increasing gloom pre vented her from recognizing the features of the gentleman who bowed toherfiom a dis tance with all the graceful ease of a young man of ton. “ Can it be Frederic ?” thought Caroline, “is it possible that he has changed his pur pose, and come to seek me 9” She curtsied, and paused a moment, but the polite individual did not advance. “ 1 cannot make the first advances,” said she, slowly resuming her walk. She held a book in her hand, which she affected to be reading, although the twilight was not at all favorable for such exercise of the eyes, and from time to time ‘she threw uneasy glances behind her. The figure still followed at a considerable distance, seeming in some measure to regulate his pace by hers. She became alarmed. It might be a crazy man—there was really something strange in his conduct! She has tened her steps, but on reaching her own door took courage to give one more look, and at that moment her singular admirer sunk on his knees beneath the last tree in the avenue, against which he leaned with one hand, while he pressed the other on his heart. “ I can doubt no longer,” cried Caroline, “it is Frederic, returned to his first affec tion, and fearing, yet wishing, to see me again.” Though this adventure certainly did not displease her—she gave her woman orders not to admit Mr. Frederic if he came, but to give the refusal very gently, making him understand that although a solitary lady could not receive evening visits from a young man, she would not refuse to see him the next day. She then repaired to her chamber—ar ranged her dress with care, and notwith standing these directions, waited a short time with excessive impatience ; then went down stairs, and to pass away the time be gan to scold her domestic, till the poor girl exclaimed in tears, “ It is no fault of mine that Mr. Frederic has not called.” “You are very impertinent, and I will send you away,” replied Caroline. However the hours passed on, and no visiter approached the house; till, at length, wearied with expectation, she reluctantly retired to rest. But it was not till after midnight, and she was outrageous. That night Caroline did not sleep. “ I was a fool to expect him,” thought she, “ he is too well bred to make so late a visit in the country. He will be here to mo'trow.” The next day she arose much earlier than usual, and once more scolded her servant for indolence. Soon afterwards the girl went to a neighboring farm-house to pro cure cream for her mistress’ breakfast, where she heard that a young man bad been ob served all night roaming around their house, and that he had passed a part of the time under, or, as some affirmed, in a tree which overshadowed Caroline’s apartment. Os course the faithful servant related all this to her mistress. “ What imprudence !” she mentally ex claimed, “ he might as well have passed the night in the house. It was very wrong ;” then softened by this proof of affection, she added, “ and so delicate as he is, too—what a folly to risk his health thus!” As early as she could walk out without exciting remark, Caroline took the path to the grove, glancing cautiously around in every direction without discovering any trace of her lover, till, on approaching the tree beneath which he had kneeled on the previous evening, she perceived a glove fas tened into a deft of the bark. This acci dental cavity naturally suggested the idea of a receptacle for letters, and the thought instantly occurred to her that Frederic wish ing to be assured of pardon before he ven tured to appear in her presence, had thus ingeniously pointed her out the method of conveying it to him. This attempt at the pastoral was exactly to her taste, and she instantly returned home to prepare a mis sive which was much more severe in appea rance than in reality. It is true, she ordered him to return instantly to town, but so gent ly was the command expressed, that no one could be deceived as to her intentions. Above all she warned him against repeat ing the extravagancies of the preceding night, as conduct which would offend her forever, and render all attempts of recon ciliation ineffectual. No sooner had she concluded this epistle, which contained—God knows how !—four pages of close writing, than she hastened to deposit it in the hollow tree, and then fled trembling away as if conscious of a culpable action—so much had the mystery affected her nerves. Os course she did not fail to take her post of observation at her chamber window, from which she soon saw a figure gliding stealthily towards the spot, through the surrounding coppice. He ap peared somewhat smaller than Frederic, but the distance probably deceived her. While she turned to say a word to her servant who unfortunately entered at that moment to re ceive orders, the billet was seized and the ravisher sprung back into the thicket; she had scarcely time to see him, he was as quick .as lightning. How agile ! The day advanced, but Froderic did not appear. Caroline began to think him al most too diffident. “ This is the way with young men,” she murmured, “ they are always too bold or too shy, yet I can neither offer him my hand, op force him to visit me.” MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 6, 1842. In the course of the day she made a se cond visit to the tree, to convince herself that the letter was really gone, and half ho* ping to find another in its place ; but in this she was disappointed, and returning home in bad humor, she pronounced her supper execrable, extolled her deceased husband for two long hours to her astonished servant, and concluded by declaring as she retired to herapartment, that the best of men were of no account. Why is she still a watcher 9 why does she steal on tiptoe to assure herself that her ser vant sleeps 9 Answer me, ye who under stand the heart of woman ! Caroline having ascertained that no car would listen, approached the casement —she imagined that the faint tones of a guitar had reached her ear, and opening the window with caution, she distinguished, at the foot of the tree, a human figure holding an in strument. Shall we say it? The romantic girl forgave the nocturnal hero for conceal ing himself through the day, and prefering, notwithstanding her prohibition, this senti mental and musical interview. “ He has poetry in his soul f” said she. Advancing her head, at first only a little, like a mouse apprehensive -of falling into the gripe of a cat, she finally ventured even to lean over the edge of the balcony ; when her mysterious lover, instantly starting up, threw himself on one knee as he had done the evening befote, and as it is the establish ed rule for a lover to do, in pantomine, A feeble ray of moon-light which for a moment illumined the elegant costume of this devoted servant of her charms, dispell ed every lingering doubt. She distinctly recognised Frederic by his slendenond grace ful figure, but more particularly by the little circles of hair which encompassed his face, and entering fully into the spirit of the scene, resolved to make it a subject of much future mirth. She was the first to speak. “Fie! Frederic, pray finish this buffoon ery,” said she ; “do you forget who I am ? or do you consider me a lady likely to be pleased with these adventures ? Remember that by such conduct you are exposing me to tiie odious remarks of my country neigh bors, who observe such things as much as any one else, and will soon send the report to town. If you really esteem me, and wish me to become your wife, you must change your manners. I do not deny that I am touched by your repentance; but that is the only concession which I can, which I ought to make under present circumstances. If you were a little older and wiser you would be inexcusable. Cease then, I entreat you, this masquerading—it is not in good taste, sir ; believe me, it is not. Do you suppose that I am going to stand here all night, like the lady of the castle, discoursing with hei troubadour from the top of a balcony ? I wish you good night, sir, and strongly advise you to retire speedily. Your palfrey prob ably awaits you in yonder grove. Adieu, minstrel! seek him, and depart—we may perhaps meet aga ; n in the city.” At the instant when she concluded this address, and stepped back as if to retire, her mute adorer sprung with astonishing agility into the tree, from there upon the balcony, and a third bound brought him into hercham ber. Caroline gave but one glance at the intruder, felt his hairy cheek pressed to her own—gave a piercing shriek, and fainted. The servant, although sound asleep, heard her mistress’ scream and hastened to her. She was soon restored to consciousness, but appeared so suffocated with feverish agita tion that she could scaicely speak. To the eager inquiries as to her cause of alarm, she only replied that a vision had terrified her—she thought she saw the ghost of her husband. The servant said nothing, per ceiving that her mistress would give no farth er explanation. She knew not what to think, but her suspicions turned rather on the living than the dead. The next day at breakfast, in hopes of driving the cloud from her mistress’ brow, she related to her an event which then oc cupied the attention of every one around them. A few days before the leader of a band of trained monkeys had landed his company in their neighborhood, and soon aftei lost his best performer; the one who was called the guitarist, or lover. This in teresting animal, a very large monkey, had escaped in full costume just after a perfor mance, and being pursued into the country where this LoCt-luce of anew species had amused himself by frightening the country girls—he had been that morning recaptured iu the grove back of their house. The delighted girl declared that he look ed as well as any other dandy, and that even Mr. Frederic might have envied his man ners. She hr nghed i 1 11 liioderstely while re lating the story, which however failed of drawing a smilefrom Caroline who petulent ly commanded silence, and ordered her to make ready for their return to town —which she promptly obeyed, being quite as weary of the country as her mistress. A few months after the incidents above related, the same unlucky animal again mnde his escape, and was shot by a jealous hus band while scaling a garden wall. This history furnishes a striking lesson to monkeys in geucrol, and romantic ladies in particular. Macon, Georgia, “ Deeply read,” as the schoolmaster said to his nose, after a night’s debauch. © IE IL £ © J E © □ General Houston's remarkable prophecy . — The following from the St. Louis Reporter has a kind of wild romance about it which may tell in these days of excitement. One evening during the winter of 1834, ns Booth, the celebrated tragedian, was walk ing up Pennsylvania Avenue, in the city of Washington, he accrosted an old friend from the West whom ho had not seen for many years. After mutual expressions of surprise and salutation, these two singular men walk ed arm-in-arm to Brown’s hotel, where both had taken lodgings. In the whole country, perhaps there could not be found two others more passionately fond of excitement, more remarkable in their habits, or more noted for their eccentricities. Retiring io a pri vate room, they sat down to recount the story of their past lives, and as they indus triously circulated the bottle, many a loud shout echoed through that hall, and started the watchmen in the street as they went their silent rounds. As the night wore on, their excitement increased, until at the close of a thrilling story relating to his strange career, his companion exclaimed— “ Now, Booth, let’s have a speech to lil>- erty —one of those apostrophies to Old Ro man freedom with which you startle audien ces!” Had Booth been inclined to refuse, he knew that his friend, when the mood was on him, would not be denied any request, however absurd or difficult the performance. But the tragedian had himself entered into the spirit of his companion, and nothing loath, he rehearsed with magic power many of those electric passages in defence of lib erty with which the English drama abounds. His friend, whose memory as well ashabits, partook of the Indian character, caught up by the words, and with equal force, clear ness and accuracy, went through each speech inregularsuccession. Thus they proceeded for a time, and then again sat down on the floor of that chamber to renew their pota tions and their personal adventures. Booth drank and listened, whilst the other told of his own elevation in his native State, of his disgust at civic honors, of his home in the distant forest, of the uncontrolled freedom of the red men, of their stoic fortitude and matchless heroism. Warmed by the recol lection of hose thrilling scenes, he sprang at last, to lus feet, and in the tone of one amid the bittle’s din, fighting against featful odds, he exclaimed, “ Now, Booth, once more for liberty!” The tragedian dared not disobey. He ran through with all his usual energy the tale of Mexican thraldom, of the Spanish con quest of that land, the dangers incurred by the invading army, their commander’s ex hortation before the battle, and the stubborn bravery of the native chief. Before him stood at that lone hour, listen ing with an intensity of thought and feeling which shone through his eyes, lightened o’er his face, strained every muscle and started the sweat in great drops from his lofty brow, one who bad all the spirit of a Cortes and ambition of a Pizzarro. Quick os thought, he took up the task and repeated the words just uttered by Booth, with the most critical precision of tone and manner. The scene was one of no small moment, it may he, to a nation’s history. As he be came excited in the recitation, his spirit seemed to take fire; and with an air so de termined, 60 frightful, that it seemed the voice of one inspired, he exclaimed at the close of a masterly extemporaneous rhapso dy, “Yes! lam made to revel yet in the Halls of the Montezumas!” Reader, Booth’s companion on that night is now President of Texas—the hero of San Jacinto. And who can say that the words uttered by him in that hour of excitement are destined never to be fulfilled ? Samuel Houston, if ever “ coming events cast their shadows before,” will yet revel in the Halls of the Montezumas. The above is a description of a scene which actually occurred, and which recent events have called up with great distinct ness. History has shown many instances of declarations, like that of Houston’s which subsequent events have induced men to re gard as prophetic. We have ever looked upon strong and passionate words, as indi cative of a spirit possessed of the requisite determination and energy of character to work out the wonderous changes predicted. Such is the character of Houston—and such may be the consummation of his singular career. llow to choose a Husband. —Girls, when you see a-young man who would “take a wife for the value of herself, for the beauty of her mind, purity of her heart, and not for the dazzle of wealth ; that man will make a good husband, for his affection will never lessen, and years will but serve to strengthen his attachment, and open new fountains in the heart, which shall murmur sweetly on the ocean of happiness. When you see t young man who is tender and af fectionate, and endowed with happy intel lect, no matter what his circumstances in life are, he is really worth winning; take him who can, girls, far be will make a good husband, I wonder this child don’t go to sleep, said an anxious mother to a female friend. Well, I don’t, replied the lady, its face is so dirty, jt ctmnot shut its eyes. From the Spanish. GIVING AND TAKING. Since for kissing you, my mother E'-.mcs and scolda me all the day, Let me have it quickly—quickly Give me back my kiss, I pray. Do—she keeps so great a tumult, Chides so sharply—looks so grave— Do my love, to please my mother, Give me back the kiss I gave. . Out upon you—out upon you— One you give but two you take; Give me hack tho two my darling l , Give them for my nv'tlier’s sake. Kentucky Orators — John Rowan. —The Editor of tho Louisville Sun, referring to the very interesting trial in which old John Rowan took his leave of the bar, gives the following eloquent detail of the impression produced on his mind: It was the case of Duparcque vs. Rice— a case in which the Catholics and Presbyte rians were much concerned—the former be ing a priest of the Catholic, and Rice a min ister of the Presbyterian church. The ablest counsel were engaged on both sides, and Rowan, and Ben Hardin, end Cliapcze, for the prosecution, were arrayed against Crit tenden, Charles A. Wickliffe, the present Post Master General of the United States, and others, for the defence. This was the first legal trial we had ever witnessed, and we shall never forget it. There was the polished, the graceful delivery of Critten den—the energetic and forcible reasoning of Wickliffe—the rich, and learned, and el oquent argument of Rowan—the sunlit il lustrations of Hardin. In that single case, were collected the flower of the Kentucky bar. John Rowan, who had retired, was prevailed upon to engage in this as his last case. Omitting all other incidents, we shall only notice his speech. Every foot of ground, every point of evidence, was disputed and argued by him, the Anrhises, who seemed to imbibe new spirit and life from the ex citement around him. Old age, however, was unable to bear up under the tedium of a long trial, and when he rose, we thought there was something in liis manner which told of conscious declining strength. He spoke for nearly three hours for the prose cution; he spoke lucidly, eloquently, ably; but that feeling he could not shake off. If judge and jury were not convinced, they at least were made to doubt. He wiped the perspiration from his brow—the memories of forty years seemed to be flitting through his mind. He recurred to his early history —bis early associates—to Daiviess, to Allen —all were gone—he left, almost alone, upon the theatre where they bad met in mental combat—where he had won all his laurels. A sense of desolation almost oppressed and choked bis utterance. He turned to the au dience, many of whom remembered him in his palmydays, when courts and juries hung entraced upon the eloquence of his tongue, and in a tone whose melancholy notes we shall never forget, concluded with those beautiful lines of the poet: — —‘l am not what I have been—and my visions flit Leas palpably before me—and the glow That in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering faint and low. A mist seemed to gather before the eyes of the old Orator. Like the Gladiator of Byron, the arena swam around him. He sank into his seat, his grey head hanging upon his breast. Judge, jury, audience were in tears. It was then we first feltthe power of eloquence. Wonderful Feat of a Dog. —The follow ing feat of a dog was yesterday communi cated to us by one who was an eye witness to it: A setter dog belonging to one of the workmen engaged in plastering the ceiling of the portico to the Treasury building, es sayed to mount the scaffold by the ladder, which was nearly perpendicular, in pursuit of his master. He gradually ascended be tween forty and fifty rounds, and was within eight or ten feet of reaching his destined spot. By this time he evidently became much fatigued, and held on with great dif ficulty. The officers in the building, and numerous passers-by in the street, looked on with deep interest, expecting every mo ment that the poor dog would tumble from his lofty height and be dashed to pieces. To return by the way he had ascended, was im possible. As if sensible of his dangerous situation, lie seemingly gathered up all bis remaining strength fora last desperate effort to save himself, and to the astonishment of the lookers-on, leaped through the rounds of the ladder towards a window in the second story of the building, which was at a dis tance of about twelve feet from him. The dog, being somewhat above the window, jumped at a slightly descending angle, which enabled him to catch with his fore feet the sill, when a gentleman, who was standing at the window watching his movements, seized him by the neck and rescued him from his impending fate.— Nat. Intel. Temperance.— “ Mr. Snub you say you are a temperance man, yet you chaws terbar ker.” “Hem! yes num, but num, I duzn’t squeeze my gizzard out with stays, nor si ick my back up with bags of meal—Mrs, Slob, 1 dont.” Why, said a cockney to his friend, has Dickens written better than Shakspeare-or Milton? Give it up? Because, although both wrote well, Boz has written Weller. VOLUME I. NUMBER 19. Beauty. —Beauty is a captivating, but fa ding flower, which often leads its youthful possessor into many dangers, many distress es. Happy is it for those who are distin guished for their outward charms, that they are sheltered under the parental roof. Hap py for them that the watchful eye regards them with rigid circumspection. Few in the early periods of life are insensible to flattery, or deaf to the voice of adoration. Beware of the flatterer; be not deceived by fair speeches. Be assured the man who wishes to render you vain of your outward charms, has a mean opinion of your sense and mental qualifications. Remember, too, that a young girl, whose chief study and em ployment is in the decoration of her person, is a most contemptible character, and that the more you are distinguished for the charms of your face and the graces of your form, the more you are exposed to danger. The rose is torn from its parent stem in the pride of beauty; the jessamine is scarcely permitted to blossom before it is plucked; and no sooner arc the beauties faced, thau the merciless hand which was eager to obtain them, throws them away with contempt; whilst the primrose, the violet, the lily of the valley, and the snow-drop, less exposed to observation, escape unhurt and uninjured hy the spoiler’s hahd. Learn, fair daughters of beauty, from the primrose, that your best security can be found in retirement. If you wish to be ad mired, be seldom seen; and if you are de sirous of having a sincere lover in your train, let virtue, modesty, sweetness, be the only lures you make use of to ensnare. You may then, perhaps, by your good qualities, retain the heart, which was at first captive to your beauties, and when timo has robbed you of the graces and the innocent cheerfulness of youth, secure a sincere and tender friend, to console you in the hours of affliction, and watch over you when depriv ed of those charms that first made him soli citous to obtain your love. Repine not,’ my young readers, though your virtues be concealed in a homely form. If you have secured the virtues of the mind, you need not envy others the beauties of the face. And ye who are decorated with outward grace, be not vain of such fading externals, but tremble lest they should tempt the designing to lead you into error. Neglect not, then, in the giddy hours of youth to make your mind a fit companion sos the most lovely. Personal charms may please for a moment; but the more lasting beauties of an improved understanding can nevei tire. We are soon weary of looking at a picture, though executed in a masterly style; and she who has only beauty to re commend her, has but little chance of meet ing a lover who will not grow indifferent to a mere portrait, particularly when its colors ore faded by the subduing hand of time. Then it is that modesty and sweetness of temper particularly observed; and the loss of beauty will not be regretted by him it first made captive. A sldm-miiJced Cheese. —Up at tire west end of the city, there is a good-natured, fun making negro, named Barsis, who hovers around tho grocery stores in that neighbor hood rather more than is desirable. Like many other gentlemen of color, he prides himself upon the thickness of his skull, and he is always up for a bet upon bis butting powers, and well he may be, for his head is hard enough -for a battering ram. The other day he made a bet in a store that he could butt in the head of a flour barrel, and be succeeded. He then took up a bet to drive it through a very large cheese, which was to be covered with a crash cloth to keep his wool clear of cheese crumbs. The cheese thus enveloped, was placed in a pro per position, and Parsis, starting off like a locomotive, buried his head up to his cars in the inviting target. Parsis now began to feel himself irresistible, and talked up “pur ty considerable.” A plan, however, was soon contrived to take the conceit out of him. There being some grindstones in the store for sale, one of them was privately taken up, and wrap ped up in the same manner as the cheese had been, and looked precisely as if it were a second cheese, and Parsis readily took an other let for a ninepenco, that he would butt his head through it as easy as he sent it through the first. The interest of the spec tators in the operation became intense.— Every thing was carefully adjusted, and upon the word being given, Parsis darted of! like an arrow at the ambushed grind* stone: he struck it fair in the centre, and the next instant lay sprawling in the middle of the floor upon which he recoiled. For some minutes he laid speechless, and then raised himself slowly upon his knees, and scratching bis head, said, with a squirming face—“Very hard cheese, dat, massa. Dey skim de milk too much altogedder before (ley make him; dat ! safac.” $ Suhlitr.e Extract. —“lt is a terrible thought, at an hour like this, to remember nothing can be forgotten. 1 have somewhere read that not an oath is uttered that does not con tinue to vibrate through all time, in the wide spreading currents of sound } not a prayer lisped, that its record is not able to be found stamped on the laws of nature by the in delible seal of the Almighty’s will.”— Coop t r's “ Two Adm rah