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VOLUME I. | BY C. R. HANLEITER. fp ©l l UY □ “ Much yet remains unsung.” PHILOSOPHY FOR THE TIMES. Let those who will repine at fate, And droop their heads with sorrow; I laugh when cares upon me wait— -1 know they'll leave to morrow: Jly purse is light, but what of that ? My heart is light ip match it; And if I tear my only coat, X laugh the while I patch it. I’ve seen some elves who called tltemselves My friends in summer weather, Blown far away, in sorrow’s day, As winds would blow a feather. I never grieved to see them go, (The rascals, who would heed ’em ?) For what’s the use of having friends, If false when most you need ’em? I've seen some rich in worldly gear, Eternally repining, Their hearts a prey to every fear— With gladness never shining, I would not change my lightsome heart For all their gold and sorrow ; For that’s a thing that all their wealth Can neither buy nor borrow. And still as sorrows come to me, (As sorrows sometimes-will come,) I find the Way to make,them flee. Is bidding them right w elcome- They cannot brook a cheerful look, THiey.’re used to sobs and sighing; And he that meets them with a smile, Is sure to set them flying. M Os T. - ■ r- ‘ From the Magnolia. REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS. THE HITE FAMILY. Among the earliest white settlers in the District of Greenville, was Mr. Hite,a gen tleman of great respectability, ami of one of the first families in Virginia. He moved to South Carolina several years previous to the commencement <>f the American Revo lution, and settled with his family on the Ennoree River. The whole country at that time was in possess! >n of the Cherokee In dians. They were a powerful, numerous and warlike tribe, but friendly, and well disposed to their neighltors, the whites, who were moving in amongst them. Several purchases of lamls.has been made for them, and giants obtained for the same from the crown of Great Britain. A grant of this character, for ten miles square, had been procuied by Paris, and which included within its boundaries, the beautiful site on which the village of Greenville now stands. Paris was an Englishman, and a man of fortune, who took up his abode among the Indians, and acquired great influence over them. He brought with him his family, which consisted, wiih others, of two inte resting and lovely daughters. The Indians, seeing that encroachments were making on their hunting grounds, retired towards the mountains, where they could live unmolest ed, and in the full enjoyment of their own peculiar mode of existence. Their visits, however, to the white settlements, were fre quent, for the purpose of trading and re ceiving presents. The object of Mr. Hite was to cultivate a friendly intercourse with the Indians, and in this he succeeded, uutil the breaking out of our revolutionary struggle. When that event happened, the Cherokees were induc ed, by the presents and agents of England, to take sides with the King against the coun try. To this course, too, they were no doubt naturally inclined; from their instinc tive love of war, and their jealousy at the continued encroachments of the whites. The feelings and principles of Mr. Hite led him to espouse the cause of his country, and learning that the Indians were about to take up arms, he thought that they might perhaps be induced to remain neutral; aud in order to try what influence he could have within them, his son was despatched to their towns with presents and messages. This son was a young man of education, and had for several years been reading law with a view to admission at the Charleston Bar. Ho had been a good deal at his father’s, and of course knew something of the Indian character, and was also personally acquaint ed with many of their chiefs. Whilst with his father on Eronnce, lie had formed, an ac quaintance with the family of Paris, and was engaged to one of his daughters, who had been educated and brought up in what was then termed the mother country. Jacob 0 Bannon Hite (for this, we believe, was his name,) set out alone for the Cherokee towns, not apprehending the least danger front the Indians, and being coufideut of his power to influence them to remain quiet and peace nhle in the coming struggle between Grout Britain and the Colonies. He had not pro ceeded far, however, in his journey into the nation, before he met, unexpectedly ami without the least intimation, some hundreds °f their warriors already on their march against the white settlements. The die had been cast, and the chiefs had already deter mined in council to take tip the tomahawks and Uig we li known, that when their deter mination is once made, nothing can alter or change it. What passed between young Hite and the warriors when they met, is unknown. His body was afterwards found, scalped and inhumanly mangled. The place & jfaroUa IlctoopaKT ♦ Scfooteir to 2Ut?rturc, culture, JHccftjnucff, Sfcucattcw, iFovrfsu domestic KiitrUlfirwcf, &c. where this unfortunate circumstance occur red, was pointed out some years to the writer, by a friend whose father assisted in the burial of young Hite. It was on the waters of Estotoe, in Pickens District, ‘at n narrow pass way between two mountains. The spot is a gloomy, dismal one, and seem ed a fit place for such a melancholy tragedy. The Indians proceeded on their march to the residence Os Paris, now the village of Greenville, and made known to him their determination aud were encouraged in the same. They also told of the death of young Hite, and were much provoked at the dis tress of Paris’ daughter, to whom lie was engaged. /This young lady, finding out that the Indians intended visiting Hite’s father on Ennoree; with a spirit and resolution worthy a heroine of romance, resolved to save, if possible, the family of her unfor tunate and plighted lover. She secretly left the house, unknown to tier father, anil | traveled on foot several miles through a wilderness, liable to be overtaken and killed by the Indians. But although she accom plished her journey in time to give the ne cessary warning, yet she was heeded not until it was too late. The Indians, after loitering some time at Paris’, went to Hite’s, and there killed him and two or three of his sons. They took Mrs. Illle ami an infant at her breast, and started.them under an es cort to their towns. Before they had gohe far, they took the infant, in the presence of . its mother, and dashed its hrainsout against some rocks on the banks of the Saluda'! Mrs. Hite was rescued, after being detained some time among; the Indians. This was the commencement of those dreadful massacies which followed, arid which almost desolated tho upper country. The only mode of warfare, ns is well known, among the savages, is an indiscriminate mur der, without regard to age or sex. For yeais after this bloody scgiic, the inhabitants of the frontiers of Carolina liad lketaUy to live with arms in tlx-if hands. Not a night passed without its dangers and appiehen- ! sions. And it may truly he said, that no ! portion of the United States experienced j greater sufferings and privations during the Revolution, than the upper part of South Carolina. In other parts of the country, there were intervals of peace find prosperi ty ; hut in Spartanburg!), Laurens and Ab beville, there was properly no safety or ces sation of lwistilities, from the beginning to the close of the war. The whig families of those Districts, were alternately the prey of the Indians, the tories, and the British army. Those of the Hite family who escaped the massacre, returned to Virginia, and some of them are yet living in that State. South Carolina made them a grant of lands, in con sequence of their losses and sacrifices. THE BATTLE OF CEDAR SPRINGS. The battle of “ Cedar Springs,” in Spnr tanburgh District, altliougli one of consider able importance, both as it regards the num ber of persons engaged, and the conse quences which ensued, is not mentioned in any history of the American Revolution, or of the revolutionary war in South Carolina. The following account of this battle, and the interesting incidents connected with it, are from the lips of a highly respectable and intelligent son of Colonel White, who com manded a battalion inthe battle of the Cow pens, and bore a conspicuous part through out tlie Revolutionary war in the “ uppor country.” Colonel Clark, of Georgia, well known in the American Revolution as a hold, ac tive, and useful officer, was on his march in to North Carolina, with a regiment of re fugee whigs, for the purpose of joining the American army then expected from the North. The news of his march reached the ears of Colonel Ferguson, who immediate ly despatched Major Dunlap, of the British army, with a detachment of troops, consist ing principally of tories, for the purpose of intercepting Colonel Clark and his regiment of militia. The Colonel not expecting an attack from the enemy, had encamped for the night, two or three miles from the “ Ce dar Springs,” when he was alarmed by the firing of a gun by one of Major Dunlap’s soldiers. It is said that this soldier, whose name is not at present remembered, was a tory, who felt some compunctious vfoijings at the idea of surprising and capturing his countrymen, and took this opportunity of giving them information of an approaching enemy. He pretended, however, that his gun went off accidentally, and he was not suspected of treachery. Colonel Clark im mediately decamped, and marched to the Cedar Springs, where lie passed the night nndisturbed. Major Dunlap, not thinking it prudent to pursue the Americans in the night, took possession of Colonel Clark’s encampment, and waited for day. .Tosiah Culverson, noted in Spartanbtirgh District for his daring and desperate ‘courage, had left the American camp that evening, for the purpose of returning home, two or three miles distant, in order to s|>eud the night. He came back, about daylight, expecting, of course, to find Colonel Clark and his regiment. But as he redo into the camp, he observed that the army seemed to present a different appearance from, what it did the evening before. Hq, nevei theless, rode on to whgro he expected to see Colonel Clark, before he became convinced that he was iu the midst of the enemy’s camp. With ex traordinary coolness and presence of mind, he then leisurely turned, and rode very slow- MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 20, t 8& ly out of the encampment, with His trusty rifle lying on-the'puminel of-his saddle. As he passed along,'he saw the dragoons catch ing their horses, and other preparations mak ing to strike up the line of march. When out of sight of the British, he put spurs to his horse, and went in the direction he-sup posed Cojonel Clark hail gone. Whilst in the enemy’s camp, he had doubtless been taken for a tofy, w.l*° was a bide ahead of the others in his preparation for marchings He overtook Colonel Clark, aud found him in readiness for the attack of Major Dunlap. In*a short time, too, that officer made his appearance, and a warm engagement en sued. The British and tories were repulsed with considerable loss. .The Americans sustained very little injury. Major Dunlap hastily fled the counfry, and by this means the citizens vyere rid of a most dangerous stud troublesome enemy. Colonel Clark pursued his march into North Carolina. During this engagement, Culverson was met by a dragoon some distance from the main battle,'who imperiously demanded bis sur render, which Culverson replied to with his rifle, and felled the dragoon from his horse. The next day when the dead were buried", this dragoon was thrown into a hole near where he lay, and covered with the earth. He Rad in bis pocket some peaches, Iron) which a peach-tree sprung, and was known for years afterwards to bear fruit. His grave is yet tv> be. seen, lnit the peach-tree has long since disappeared. The graves of some twenty or thirty others whf> fell in this engagement, are abo to he sc,en at this time, GENE CAL WILLIAM prTLER. The life, character and revolutionary ser vices of Mqjor General William Butler, are well known in the upper part of South Ca rolina, although his name.does-not appear in any history of the American Revolution. He. entered the service of his country when a very young man, and continued actively and ardently engaged throughout the whole ‘of’beT struggle foi'iindependence. There’ was hd one who espoused the side of liber ty and his country with more, zeal and devo tion. Endowed by nature with ah ardent and imtietuons temperament, high and hon orable feelings, and a bold and fearless spirit, it was impossible for him to remain inactive, or look with indifference on the scenes throughwhich his country was passing. In the datkest period of her distress and sub jection, as well as in the sunshine of her victories and success, lie was ever found manfully maintaining her rights, and fear lessly fighting her enemies. He had for several years the command of a troop of cavalry under General Pickens, and whilst in this.service, had frequent skirmishes with the enemy, and many incidents are related of him, which well deserve a page in the history of his couutry. On one occasion, lie fell in with the fa mous “ Bill Cunningham,” Captain of the “ bloody scout”—a name which always struck terror to the hearts of the bone/t people of the dipper country. The mur derous deeds and shocking cruelties of “ Bill Cunningham,” are well known in the history of South Carolina. He command ed a mounted company of tories, which tra versed the whole upper country, and went from house to house, murdering the heads of all the families, who fell in their way. Captain Butler, with his troop of cavalry, was sent in search “of Cunningham. They met, and after a slight skirmish, the tories fled—as was their practice, when opposed by regular troops. Cunningham was mount ed on a blooded horse, which he had stolen in the lower country, remarkable for its fleet ness. Captain Butler was also riding a fine charger. He recognised Cunningham, and singled him out in the chase. They became separated from thrift respective hoops, at id , the race through tlie Woods was a very close one’. Whilst at full speed, and but a few p'aces ahead of Butler,.Cunningham fired his last pistol over his shoulder, without turning round, but missed his object. But ler had already discharged both big pistols, and his only reliance was now in the fleet ness of his horse, and the goodness of his sword. In passing through the woods, Cuuningham’s sword was torn from his side, and fell into the possession of his pursuer. It was a beautiful and costly weapon, which was ever afterwards worn by General But ler, in all of his military excursion; not only dot ing the Revolution,- but in the latter part of his life, whilst a Major General pt the militia. On his death, he gave the sword to his son, tho Hon. W illium Butler, now a member of Congress from the Districts of Pendleton and Greenville, and in whose possession it still remains. Ctinnipghanval so lost his pocket-book iu the chase, which fell into the hands of Captain Butler, and is still in the possession of a member of bis family. After going some distance through the woods, they struck a road, and Cunning ham, knowing the speed of his horse on a fair turf, tauntingly said to Butler, “ I now have you” —and was, in a few minutes, out of danger and beyond pursuit. After the close of the Revolution, and whilst the circuit court of law was sitting at Cambridge, for tlie district of “ Ninety-Six,” there was a fellow by the name of Loveless, brought before the .colirt on a charge of horse-stealing. He had been a noted tory and plunderer during the Revolution, and was one of a murderous band which had killed General Butler's father and uncles. On this trial, it was discovered that the tea -tirnony was insufficient to establish his guilt, and the jury were compelled, as a matter of course, to bring in a verdict of “.not guilty.” But no sooner was the verdict pronounced, than tlie crowd determined that Loveless’ had oilier and higher offences to atone for, tbap tbat of taking his neighbor’s lior.?e; and that, although lie had escaped punish ment ip the one case, he should not be so fortunate in the otlier. Jite blood qf the Butlers, and other whigs; \yho bod been murdered by this lawless ruffian, cried out for revenge; and their descendants deter mined it should beJigd-ina very summary way. “With a file of men, General -Butler went into the court liouse, and in the pre sence of Judge and Jury, seized the prisoner before lie could be released from rhe bar, carried him out into the court-yard, and there hung him on a tree which grew in front of the court-house. Tlie spectator Sr, composing an immense erowd, did not at tempt to interfere. The presiding Judge was the Hon. iEdanns Burke, a man of high talents and great legal acquirements, and afterwards Senator in Congress from South Carolina. Judge Burke was an Irishman by birth, and educated in Europe. He came to South Carolina during the Revolution, as an amateur of war, and tlie friend of liber ty. He was very little acquainted with the manners and customs of the people in the “ upper ciTuirtiy.” Though a bold and conn ogeous man, lie ivas not q little startled arid shocked at seeing a prisoner, who had been pronounced i/inoawtby the verdict iff n Ju ry, carried out of court in defiance ot the’ Judge and the Law,, and immediately exe cuted in contempt of the trail through which he bad just passed. Judge Burke was. a man of unbounded humor, and loVed a good joke most dearly. Heonc.e ordered a Jury to acquit a prisoner of a charge of horse stealing, leeausc it appeared from the tes timony that he was intoxicated with corn whiskey, when he stole the horse. “I kuow,” said his Honor to the Jury, “ that this vile stuff you call corn whaeley.g ryes a man-pro pensity to stael. I once got drunk on it my self, and canto very near taking, without tare, a fine ltorse.” But although his Honor loved a jest, this notion of hanging a man on a verdict of “ netgiril/y,” was pressing the figure a little too far for bis Irish humor. He was unable, however, to interpose his judicial authority. The wile of Loveless, with shrieks, tears and dishevelled hair, rushed into the couit-holiso apd implored . fbti Judge to sj)re her husband. “ Before God, my good woman, I dare not, or they will hang me”—was his Honor’s reply. In stead of attempting to save tl)e prisoner, the Judge thought it best for the. Court to take care of itself, and immediately ordered his horses and set out for Charleston. Tlie tree bn which Loveless was hung, stood for many years after the court had ceased to lie hoklen at Cambridge, and was ens down by an old African slave, to whom tlie tree was J minted out as one on which peojde were tanged. ‘ „ General Butler lived and died in Edge field District. He was successively a mem ber of the Legislature, a member of tlie State Convention which adopted tlje Feder al Constitution, and for many years a mem ber of Congress from the Districts of Edge field und Barnwclf.- He left, at his death, some seven or eight sons, who have filled the highest offices within the gift of South Carolina—-the Executive Chair, a seat on the Bench, and in Congress. Romance of real life. —Some years ago, says a foreign journal, the captain of a Cor sair carried off the wife of a poor v&ood-cut ter, residing in the neighboihood of Messi na. After detaining her for several months onboard his Vessel, he Ended her on. un island in the South Peas, wholly regardless of Vliat might bofal her. Jt happened that the woman wlis presented to the spvage monarch of the island, who became enam ored of her. He made her his wife, placed her on the throne, aud at his death left her j sole sovereign of his domains. By a.Euro pean vessel, which recently touched at jljo island, the poor wood-cutter lias received intelligence of his Wife. She sent him pre sents of such vast value, that he will prolra bly be one of the wealthiest individuals in Sicily, until It shall please her majesty, his august spouse, to ■sumfnoii him to her court. To-Morrow. —Who can tell how rauchis embraced'in this expression 1 Though a few Honrs intervene between it and its—-though it will soon commence its course—who is there that ettn rend a single page and pro nounce the diameter of its events'? To-morrow! Those who are gav may he sad. Those who ate now Walking’ the ave nues of pleasure, led by the hand of hope, may be the subject of intense sorrow. I’ros periiy maybe changed into adversity. Those who are now on the mountain sum mit may Ire in the valley. The rosy check may he overspread with paleness.—llie t strong step may falter. Death may have overtaken us. To-mot t'ovv ! It may have entirely chan ged the course, of our lives. It may form a new eta in our existence. What we four j may not happen: To-morrow! nvyay with anxiety. Let ns ! lean on Frovidence. Tlicrcr is u be ip gto • whom all the distinctions of time are the ! same,” and Who is nhle to dispose of every ! thing for our wise improvement. A Journey Down East. —We Wave heard of journeying through the Red Sea—drea ry wanderings In interminable deserts—long travels round the world, and even of a run to Ohio through mud that’ covered both poney and rider up to the shirr collar, hut never in our lives have we beard of any thing to match a late journey of a gentleman, whom we shall denominate Dickey 1 Delver down east. • , , . , . Dickey was a famous wolf digger some where in the western part of tlie gpod State of Mqine, and undertook, as.lie supposed, at a most advantageous bargain, to .dig a well for forty-five dollars. Haying labored with much assiduity till be arrived at the depth of nearly fifty feet with the prospect, of soon completing his job, DickgJ ascend ed in these upper regions tr> look irvr a little “ leven o'clock,” and had just effected his escape, when, alas! in caved the sides of his well and filled it fifteen feet with anoth er solid trulls. Dickey loolcedover the edgt*. groaned, scratched his head, and for a mo ment pondereiFin the bitterness of bis hentf, half murmuring a curse on liis'crucl stars, for thus doubling his heavy task ; hut, prob ably, never once thought of feeling grateful to kind providence for his almost miraculous escape from instant death. Looking around, however, he “saw his coat and hat lying near the margin of the well, anti a thought stt uck him that if lie should clear out, xis the say* ing is, his friends mid neighbors, would soon discover the situation of the well, nod See ing his coat and hat where he s bad left them when.be descended, would no doubt consi der him buried under the mass that had latlen, and \yifh one consent would join to dig hhn out, and thus clear the well. So thought, so determined, and away goes Dickey, without coat of hat, n6t to another world but to another part of this. Tlie gs fair of the well’s caving iu was soon known iri the neighborhood, and as might be ex pected all were soon gathered around the iearfbl gulpli, that, as they supposed, had closed upon poor Dickey wjtli a dreadful vengeance. After the first surprise bud si lence were past, one and another- ventured an ohseivation upon poor Dickey’s lot. “ Poor man, lie is no doubt dead !” “ llow. he icas'. have felt when he saw the whole earth” above falling in upon him.” But it is ail over now. The relatives seemed to be quite calm, and it was at length very,serious ly agitated vvhether-tfiey-should dig out the body/ Some were in favor of that measure, but by. a suggestion of a relative that it was rio use for he was already well buried, they finally determined to leave him to his lot, and allow his hones to mingla with the gloo my depths in which they were confined. The particulars of the ca-e soon traveled in the shape of news to the place of Dickey’s retreat, who was so mollified at tlie* result that lie kept him out of hearing half the year being ashamed to return home. At last he thought of an answer to the enqui ries which plied thickly-to liis ears on his first appearance above ground, and with that he resolved to make a venture, Dickey ac cordingly returned, and after a little sur prise excited in liis neighbors by the unex pected arrival, they began to inquire liow he managed to -get our, informing him of their conclusion to let him remain where he had buried himself. “Aye, aye,” says Dickey, “ I know, all that very well for 1 waited till I found you had abamlfrticd me, and then went to work to dig “"myself out, but missing’niy direction I had a long job of it; arid lately came out in SomerseLcoun fy about fifty miles from the stalling point. — Bostonian. JTappiaess.~- Mankind are ever ih pursuit of happiness. And in a thousand different wavs do they seek it, mid in as many ways are they disappointed in Obtaining tho pre cious boon, so lunch sought afteEyetso sel dom found. Tho man of ambition seeks it iii tlie schemes and golden visions of the future ; t)ie politician in the political contro i versy ; and the popV m;Ai in the prospect ‘of amassing wealth anti bring at ease. But in the end they find that tlie object of their pursuit is as fat from their grasp as when they commenced at first. This is not a world of happiness and ease. He who is nursed in a lap of luxury, and reared in tilt? plea sures of the gnv, must meet in his pathway I through life, crosses and niisfovtunes as well i ns hq who is t<o>n m the evils of poverty, and reared amid tlie vicissitudes of want. Alike vain are their pursuits of happiness. The’ Student, toftiijg ct the midnight,lamp, and exploring the.regions of science .gnd knowledge, sees before him happiness aud fame; and Hope, as she stands beckoning “ upon the sunny Idll of tlie future” leads him on in the path of scientific ..research. He labors with an utidiminished zeal; but disease lays his hand upon him ; his form is wasted hud reason is lost. Tlie devotee of fashion seeks it among liis gav companions and in the revels of notings; but at last fie learns that he has sown the seeds of rem>n sc and unhappiness; and that the road which he had fancied led to the olysian fields,, lends but to shame nhd misery. So it is'; whether we seek happi ness in the busy throng, or in tho solitary wild; Whether in the giddy whirl of folly, nr In ;be career of artTbition. ir is not to be. Search for it where we may, we cannot pos sess it; hke a phantom it. ever eludes our g''3 s P- . .V.b 1 Despise life, that thou mftVcs*. enjoy it, \ NUMBER SI. W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. \ Aristocracy.A man ehotild be respected for flie good qualities of his heart along. When a selection is aliout to he made for a persoti to fill any distinguished office in rhe gift of his countrymen, the first question should not be. “Is he a men of extraordi nary talents 1” but “ Is he a man of honor able principles—a good member of society, who performs his dory to hid God, and to his fellow creatures 1” It by m) means fob laws, that if a person posisipS a liberal r.ution, and is endowed tyith a strong men tal capacity, lie is to be selected as a proper person to w atcb over the properties Or mo rals of his fellow chizens, or the fjherfieß of ids count ry. Such a . person may possess immense power to -do good, or to d,o eril. His influence, in high station, whatever his private character may be, must necessarily be very great. And although his principles may not lie-correct ; although he toay be a stranger to -probity**find a hyppmte and a liat, the dark hues of his diameter mav he Hhilniriotria’ by the reflected light of his genius, arid thus rendered invisible. If we must have any kirjd of Aristocracy, Jet it nbt.be the Aristocracy of Wealth, the Aris tocracy but Birth* or the Aristocracy of Worth. Old Customs.-A Yonng girls in the days preceding the Revolution, used to save a portion of their annual allowance, to furnish ed linen, silver spoons and spinning wffeels! the piano is substituted for the latter instrument. ■ It wras-usual in 17G0, wlien an aip>al|MV-’ dv or heifest was married, to announce in the gazettes of that rfay-, themarflagr some what’ after this fashion: “ Miss Snow, a most agreeable and amiable lady.” or “ Jtyiss Dolly Duifipy, with a large hand some-fortune.” • - ‘ When people were married, they kept open housd for two days, dufitig which time pnnch wgs dealt out in profusion. But that was riot the worst of if. The” bride was compelled to summit to be kissed by all the guests, even to tbc number of one hundred 1 each day. It wes considered a delicious Te j past by the gentlemen. | Dentists were not common before the | Revolution. In 1754 a French dentisgcanie ( to Philadelphia, and earned a large omoent ( of money by lire practice. Artificial teeth I werti unknown. i|e offered publicly to buy | teeth at two guineas foj- sbuud onea. Toothbrushes were unknown, arid, the ladies W’ere accustomed to use chalk or snuff upon a rag. It was considered in those days the height of clle mi nancy furagemle | man to wash his teeth, even with wute|\, 4 lidniglitl —The clock is striking twelve. How finely tfiefull tones sweep p3stthrough the air, as if theytfotfld take up ourthought arid carry it miles away to the very friend you are thinking of {it the moment. How many htfuntrf of. wretchedness hidden 4irom human eye, in tbe depths, of human hearts, have these cold vibrations ‘reached whila they are dying iso carelessly upon our ears? Wjmt tales might they tell of secret misery, sickness nnwatched, and preying sorrow, and fear, arid carr, and the thousand hitter cankers that He and feed at thowery heart strings, beyond all reach of medicine, per haps of sympathy- Many n wife 6?ti watch mg W ith a broken liearf for her husband’s step —-many a mother for her child’s; aod fnany a venturous merchant ties baunredby Ibprs of shipwreck and Crfc—many on un detected defaulter fancies voices at the door “—many a. young girl just finding oiit that love is only a heaviness and ri tear, ‘mu&ri-J bitterly over the caprice of a moment of-qn unmeant trifle. And tliese are tlie only •watchers.. —for tho happy fire asleep—save the bride on her daintily wrought pillow, murmuring in a low tone to the ear that will soon'tire of its monotony—<or the, fervent poof building up his dream into with his eyes straining into the darkness, and bis jiulsc mounting with the leaping free dom of an angel’s, forgetting the world will trample ogt his fiery Bpiut.to ashes, and laugh to scorn the fine work of his towering fancy. Immortality of Man, —It cannot be that earth is man’s'only abiding place. It cin not he that our lifjj isa bubtde castoff by tfie ocean of to, float a its wave?}, and sink into darkness. Rise why is it, that the’ high and glorious aspira tions, which leap like angels from the tem ple of our hearts', are 4oreVer wandering abroad unsatisfied 1 Wby is it that tberain* bow and the cloud come over ns with a begu ty that is uot of earth, and then pass off, and leave us tbmuse upon their feded loveliness! Why i? it diet;he stars which lipid their fes tivals around the midnight throne, are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, for ever mocking us with their unopproachabhs glory 1 And why is it that bright form? of human beauty are presentedtoour view and thep taken from us, leyivin” the thousand streams of our affections fp fjbw bacjipwjqw alpine torrent upon our hearte;! We arc bora for a higher destiny tfjan ftiat of; earth. There is a realm where the raiubaw never fudes, where the stars will be spread erut be fore us like Islands that slipnber ocean, and where the beautiful beings that here pass before 119 like visions, will sUiy.iu our presence forever. “ Taku care ofsthe paint/’ ?s tlie.gril raid wlfen Bill was kiesing her.