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—”————— —' ———”—' ——— VOLUME ii. | m iramUfi : ©cfcotcfc to ftUtraturc, atertcultuvc, J&ecnautcie, Education, jFotriflu au3 Domestic XiUellffieuce, scc. j number 21. BY 0. R. HANLEITER. PiQIiTRY, THE ORIGIN OK THE SIMPLE. BY A. A. LOCKE. ‘Oiir day as Love’s queen was on Ida reclining, Where thefount and the vine woo'd the wild zephyr's kiss, She dreamed of Na reissue, his dark locks entwining Around his fair face, blushing beauty and bliss. Soon Cupid espied her so sweetly reposing,— Why slcep'st thou, my mother, ‘tis Cupid, oh speak! Bright Phoebus is set, and night’s curtains are closing, Awake!”—and his fingor imprinted her cheek. “ Befiis it a goddess, so fair and enchanting, On Earth’s low ly couch among mortals to rest ? The moon curbs her steeds, for thy Star is yet wanting, And Vesper awaits thee to shine in the west.” As soft as the peach down it sunk to his finger, And kept like that fruit its impression awhile, Unwilling to part, yet forbidden to linger, It fled with her frown, and returned with her smile And thus, as ‘tissaid,a sweet dimple enhances The cheeks of our maidens, so gracefully fair, Adds charms to their smiles, and fresh fire to their glan ces, And shows the young god ha3 been revelling there. -©E IL I©T lE> T^ILiESo MADEMOISELLE DELAFAILLE. ****** The death of a wife whom he tenderly loved had overwhelmed the President de Boissieux with a sorrow that denied consola tion. At every anniversary of his bereave ment, he went alone and in deep mourning to the cemetary to kneel upon the stone that he fondly supposed covered the remains of a spouse whom he worshipped. His pray ers to his Maker were that he might be speed ily re-united to her in another world, whom lie would no more see in this. ■'Five years after the death of Mine, de iiuissieux, her husband went according to the form that he had prescribed for himself, to weep over her ashes. lie had been about an hour absmbed in prayer, when the sound of upproaching footsteps caused him to raise his head, and lie recognized Clementina— yes, her for whom unavailing tears were yet undried upon the cheek, the woman for whose soul’s repose he hud worn out heaven with prayers, his wife escorted by and lean ing on the arm of a stranger. He sprang up and extended his arms, •• Clementina, it is thou,” he cried, “re stored to those longing arms by the miracu lous, especial interposition of God !” The lady, who at first had not noticed him on his knees, uttered a piercing cry, and lied. M. do Boissieux followed, resolved to overtake her, but was only in time to see her spring into a coach with four horses, and they were instantly lashed into a gallop. Out of bieath, moved by an irrepressible feeling, M. do Boissieux run to the dwelling of the gtave-digger, and begged him to ex plain what he had seen—to tell what he knew of the burial of Mde. de Boissieux. “I would willingly resolve you,” replied the roan of pick and shovel, “ but I have on ly been employed here four years and a half. It was llenegold who interred the lady.” •• What has become of Itencgold 1” “He has fallen into an inheiitance, and 1 gone toNoimandy with his family.” ” Five yeais ago f” •• Five years to a day.” “ Well,” continued M. de Boissieux, “have ; you never seen a young and beautiful wo plan, and richly dressed, about the grave of she deceased lady V “Never, sir, hut three or four days ago, 0 mulatto servant cante to me to know the precise spot where the lady was buried. “ Was that all she asked you V “ All, sir.” “ Well,” replied M. de Boissieux, putting some silver into his htnd, “ pay particular attention to that grave, and if any thing ex- j traordinary happens, inform the lieutenant of police of it. I will see you again.” Leaving the grave digger’s hut, M. de Boissieux repaired to the presence of the; Count d’ Argenson, the licutenaritof police, told him what he had seen, and made no se cret of,the suspicions awakened in his mind by the sudden disappearance of the grave digger, and his unlooked for inheritance, “ Very romantic, indeed,” said D’Argcn eon, “it appears to me s hat the exlraoidi i,aiy resemblance between the lady you sa w in the grave yard and your deceased wife, -i ; imagination, as the phantom 0iauw....... _ Nevertheless, wo can’t be too sure, t"u l will immediately give orders and find out the lady’s name. 1 will also send an agent immediately to Normandy, to examine the grave-digger.” “ Will you not first,” said M.deßoissieux, order the grave to be opened and examin ed upon my requisition V Next day the lieutenant of police, accom panied by De Boissieux, two physicians, {wo counsellors, and a high functionary of the police, opened the grave in the church yard of St. Germau des Pres, and found the coffin broken and empty. Three days afterwards, the lieutenant of the police wrote to M. de Boissieux as fob “ The lady seen by the President de Bois sieux in the churchyard on the fourteenth of October, is Madame de Garan, the wife of M de Garan, a major in tho artillety regb meat of Lafere; their marriage was con tracted at Pondicherry, where Madame de Garan was born, and they arrived in France only a month ago. The agent sent to Nor mandy had no difficulty in finding the fami ly of the grave-digger. Renegold has been dead three years; hut it appears fmtn the testimony of his wife and children, that no legacy has fallen to his share, yet that lie came to Vire with ten thousand livres.— These facts, which are all 1 have been able to obtain, seem to warrant the belief that the body of Madame Boissieux had been taken away.” The President then informed the lieuten ant of the intimate connexion that existed between the families of l)e Garan and his deceased wife, oftheir betrothal, the causes which had prevented ils consummation, and the difficulty he bad in winning the lady’s hand, till the reputed death of Major de Ga ran. He begged M. d’Argenson to spare no pains in tracing every movement of the parties—not doubting, be said, that the lady was bis own wife, whom he resolved to re claim. The preliminary measures having been taken, the President entered a regular complaint against De Garan,demanding that notwithstanding the second marriage of his wife, she should be required to resume her station in his family. At the same time he used the utmost diligence in collecting evi dence beating upon the fact. From the Min ister of War be learned the very dav of the arrival of Garan at Paris—a day* remarkable for liis immediate departure from that place, after having witnessed the obsequies of Ma dame de Boissieux. He soon discovered the postillions who drove him from Paris to Brest in company with a sick lady wearing a veil. He also learned that they bad taken passage in a merchant ship called the “Fair Margaret,” though his duty was to have em barked on a national vessel—and procured her log-book. With this evidence he en tered into a legal process, I lie issue of which did not appear to him in the least doubtful. The nature and novelty of this case, the difficulty which obstructed its progress, the mystery in which it seemed shrouded, and, above all, the high tank of the parties con cerned, excited an unwonted curiosity. All Paris rang with the wildest rumors, the most absurd commentaries, and the most mali cious insinuations, alike at the cost of the husband, who sought to regain his defunct wife, and the man who maiutainec his right to what he had taken from the grave. The hall of Parliament was crowded by a sensi tive audience, dazzled by the extraordinary beauty of Madame de Garun, audibly pray ing for her deliverance from an infernal con spiracy. Mr. Pelafaiile, who hud been deep ly afflicted by his daughter’s icluctance to the match he bad made for her, had retired to Toulouse immediately after her death, which he reproached himself with having hastened. lie now came post-haste to Pa ris, and had an interview with Madame de Garan, to whom he extended his arms, weep ing. The young lady betrayed no emotion: sho only evinced a respectful astonishment; and without the motion of a muscle, declar ed to those who accompanied her would-be father, that she had never seen the person before her, and that her only wonder was at such unexpected impertinence; she repeat ed this declaration, repelled ihe claims of Madame de Boissieux with calmness and dignity, and gave a short history of her life, which she supported with documentary ev idence*. She left no doubt of the autlientic ily of the document drawn up by her coun sel, M. de Maizais. She was the child of ihe Siene de Marval and Mile. Fitchette, born in Pondicherry, and had been three yeais before in the Iving’s Chapel, in the presence of the highest functionaries of the colony, civil and military. The register of her birth was found cor rect, as well as her marriage ceitificute, with all the legal formalities. The pair had returned to France in a na tional vessel. There was no reason to be lieve that a man of honor, and a soldier of high rank, as M. de Garun had proved him self, would turn justice into a farce ; and it was equally incredible that a young man and virtuous woman would maintain an imposi tion with such audacious tenacity. De Mai zais,one of the most distinguished advocates in the kingdom, dwelt eloquently upon this text, and made such an impression upon the audience, and even upon the bench, that what had been doubt become assured con viction, It was in vain that the President de Boissieux and his no less eloquent coun sel called for precise details—insisted upon indubitable evidence and irrefragable coin cidences—in vain that they proved that de Garan had arrived in Paris on the very day of the lady’s burial—had left the city the same night, without bidding farewell to his mother, or asking her blessing, though there was strong probability of his never seeing her again—in vain that they showed that he took a by-road to Brest, in a haste that would set fire to the axle-trees —that he took with him a veiled lady in a state of insensibility, and that he took passage with her, under an assumed name, in a merchant ship, in con tempt of his rank and duty. M. de Boissieux brought forth the testimony of the most em inent of the faculty respecting many cases where lethargy bad continued several days with every appearance of death : but all his rhetoric —all his logic—was nothing to the cool serenity of the young bride of M. de Garan. Seated behind her counsel, sur rounded ly her husband’s relations, she seemed confident in human and divine jus tice. MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 19, 1543. i mHsEi&f -’ x , ,\’\ly<.'ji/SM fe-;-.. - ~ ; ..3*tL’ ,Bfegy 3/ _ ‘'vf^ s W‘ ‘T Among the most curious and interesting peculiarities of the American Indians, is their methods of disposing of their dead.— The modes are different in different nibes, varying according to their religious notions, accidental caprice, or their attachment to the person of the deceased. Among the Esquimaux the corpse is deposited, with the head to the westward, in a sort of coffin formed of loose planks, and placed upon a platform of driftwood, w hich is sometimes raised to the height of two feet. A hive shaped covering, made of spars or drift wood put together closely, is erected over this to secure the body from the depredations of wild beasts ; it gives way however finally to the rapacity of foxes and wolves. The body is generally dressed in a frock made of ei der-duck skins, and coveied with bides of deer. Sometimes the coffin and planks are omitted, and the corpse then rests simply on the drill wood. Among some of tbe tribes of tbe United States, tbe dead are bur ini several feet under ground, with their dress es and all their implements of war und bunt ing by their side. These things are thrown into the grave in the belief that tbe deceas ed will have use for them in the hunting grounds of the other world. Ollier tribes place them in the earth in an erect posture, all accoutred and prepaied for immediate action, which they think will be necessary, At first, the bench, though undecided, manifested a strange interest for so young and fair a woman, horn in a foreign land, who, trusting in lier husband’s love and pro tection, hud followed his fortune, and had only set foot on an inhospitable shore, to be dragged to the bar of justice, to L>e deprived of the titles of wife, mother and daughter. 1 rider the influence of these feelings, after the impartial minister of the law, the judge, had delivered his decision that the claims of the President de Boissieux were unfound ed, and that, he should make reparation to Major de Garan and liis w ife for his attack upon their honor, and the expense to which they had been put; and when the other mag istrates were about to deliver their accordant opinions, an unforeseen but decisive inci dent put another face upon the whole pro ceeding. While the attorney for the Gov ernment was speaking, tire President de Boissieux had left the court, and repaired to liis own dwelling, w-liete the first consolation was the embrace of a little daughter six years old, who also bore the name of Clem entina, and who was a little over a year old when she lost her mother. A spai kof hope was kindled in the bosom of the bereaved magistrate; be folded tbe child in his man tle, and returned with her to court. The court bad just risen to retire to the chambers of deliberation, w hen M.de Bois sieux made a signal for a moment’s delay, and directed bis steps towards Madame de Garan and her friends. M. de Maizais was too much engaged in arranging tbe folios of bis plea to pay any attention, while Madame de Garan appeared absorbed in sad reflec tions, supporting her head upon bet band. At this moment the little daughter of the President de Boissieux took her by the baud, and holding up her rosy lips, exclaimed— “ Mother, won’t you kiss me ?” Instinctively moved, and scarce knowing what she did, the countenance of Madame do Garun lighted. She strained the infant to her bosom, covered it with kisses and tears, exclaiming— ” Clementina, my child !” Though Madame de Garun's counsel felt the rampart be bad built crumble under him, be did not abandon the ruins. He vindica ted lieu in her owh eyes and in those of tbe judges ; lie painted a pathetic picture of her sufferings, her resignation, her pious sub mission to her father; be showed how she had been miraculously rescued from the jaws of death, and had fled from France to give life to the man to whom she owed it. In conclusion, lie prayed the court to annul a marriage that death had broken off', and to reject the pretensions of a husband who came to reclaim a wife lie bad not known bow to keep. Such a decision was, of course, out of the question. The marriage of Madame de Ga ran at Pondicherry was pronounced null und void ; and she was ordered to return to the house oflier lawful husband. On the same day the lady, who had regained her own AM UNBOAKI ©59 0 L ffi ’ 3 ®§AWE. soon as the deceased reach the countiy of souls. Among the Cliippeways, one mode of burying the dead, is, to place the coffin, o box containing their remains on two cross pieces nailed or tied with wattap to four poles, as is designed to he represented by the above engraving. The poles are some times ten feet liiuh. They plant near these poles, the wild hop, or some other kind of tunning vine which spreads over and covers the coffin, ‘l’lie reason they give for thus disposing of their dead, is, that they dislike to hasten them out of sight by putting them under ground. That it is a comfort to them to see the box that contains tbe remains of their departed friends. Tbe Chippeways declare, that all Indians when they die, go to a large village, towards the setting sun, that lias no end to it—Jce byug-aindiihourkee-ewaud, or the country of souls. Some say they get there directly —otlicis have to encamp several nights by the wav before they leach it. The Great Spirit, however, according to their belief, does not five in this great village, but he live* in the sky. These notions of tbe untu tored Indian, evidence the universality of Religion; and if men’s feelings were not sufficient they prove that the human mind is as prune to religion, as spaiks ore to fly upward. name, but would not, nevertheless, relin- j quish that of do Garan, implored permission ! of the King to retire to the Carmelite con- i vent, or any other lie might select. The re quest was inadmissible : and she was diiect ed to conform to the sentence of the Pal lia- 1 ment within twenty-four hours. ****** At six o’clock that evening, Madame de Boissieux was announced to her husband, j liis friends and relations, whom he had as- ! scmbled to receive her. She came alone, scrupulously attired in white, DVd wearing her richest jewels. Her husband eagerly rose to receive her. She I waved him back. “Sii,” said she, in a tone \ of calm resignation, “take back what you I have lost !” and she fell dead at his feet. That evening M. de Garan, who had also poisoned himself, breathed his last in liis mother's arms. Thrilling Incident. — 1 passed up the nat urnl avenue and came upon the green. My feelings were very poetical asl walked slow ly towards the village qfmrcli. 1 entered. A popular preacher was bolding forth and ihe little meeting house was much crowded. Several persons were standing up, and 1 soon discovered that I must retain my per pendicular position, as every seat was ciowd ed. 1 however passed up the aisle until 1 gained a position where 1 could have a fair view of the faces of nearly all present. — Many of the congregation looked curiously at me, for 1 was a stranger to them all. In a few moments however, the attention of every poison appeared to he absorbed in the ambassador of grace, and I also began to take an interest in the discourse. The speaking was fluent, and many of liis flights were even sublime. The music of the wood and the fragrance of the heath seemed to respond to his eloquence. Then it was no great stretch of the imagination to fancy that the white banded creatures around me, with their pouting lips and artless innocence were beings of a higher sphere. While my feelings were thus divided between the beauties and blessings of the two worlds, and wrapt in a sort of poetical devotion, 1 detected some glaucA at me of a most ani mated character. I need not describe the sensations experienced by a youth when the eye of a beautiful woman rests for a length of time upon liis countenance, and when he imagines himself to he an object of interest to her. I returned her glances with inter est, and threw all the tenderness into my eyes which the scene, my meditation, and the preacher’s discourse had inspired in my heart, doubting not that the fair young dam sel possessed kindred feelings with myself —that we were drinking together nt the fountain of inspiration. How could it he otliei w ise 1 Site had been born and nurtured amid these wild and romantic scenes, and was made up of romance, of poetry and tendSV ness; and then I thought of the purity of woman’s love—her devotion—her truth. I only prayed that I might meet with her where we could enjoy a sweet exchange of of sentiment. Her glances continued.— Several times our eyes met. My heart ached with rapture. At length benediction was pronounced. I lingered about the premi ses until I saw the dark-eyed damsel set out for home, alone and on foot. Oh! that the customs of society would permit! for we are surely one in soul. Cruel foimality ! that throws up a barrier between hearts made for each other ! Yet I followed after her. She looked behind, and 1 thought she evinced some emotion recognising me as the stranger of the day. I quickened my pace, and she actually slackened hers, as if to let me come up with her. ‘• Noble young creature !” thought I.— “ Her artless and warm heart is superior to the shackles of customs.” I at length came within a stone's throw of her. She suddenly halted, and turned her face toward me. My heait swelled to burst ing. I reached the spot where she stood.— She begun to speak, and I took off my hat, as if doing reverence to an angel. “ Are you a pedlar 1 !” “No my dear girl, that is not my occu pation.” “ Well, I don’t know,” continued she, not very bashfully, and eyeing me very sternly —“ I thought when 1 saw you in the meet ing house that you looked like the pedlar who passed off a pew ter half-dollar on me about three weeks ago. and so I determined to keep an eye you. Brother John has got home now, and lie says that if lie catches the feller lie’ll wring his neck for him ; and I uiut sure but you’re the good-for-nothing rascal after all.” Reader, did you ever take a shower bath? Qy* We feel that we could not render a more essential service to our fair readers, or pay u better compliment to thuir taste, than by inserting in tlieir department tbe following extracts from the concluding por tion us Hon. Edmund Dillabunty’s Address, dtliicivil at tbe dose of the Examination of the Female Institute at Columbia, Ten nessee, June 30, 1S13: “ You must remember, my young friends, that tbe places that are now filled, and tbe relations that are now sustained by your seniors will, in a few years, devolve upon you. You ought to feel gratitude to your iriendsand teachers, for your removal from care and the privations that thousands suf fer, and use well the means that have been provided for your preparation to meet the responsibilities of coming life. Health is so common a blessing of youth that it is too frequently but little valued. It is, however, easily lost, and when gone, it is difficult to be tegaiiied. Your energy of character, your efficiency and intellectual activity, your own enjoyments, and your hopes of doing good to others, all depend on ils preserva tion. Disease and pain, arid joy and hap piness, cannot inhabit the same dwelling.— All irregularities in the disposition of time, all improper exposures, enervating indo lence, that waste the powers of the nervous system ; in a word, every thing that tends to check the growth of the body or the vi gor ol the constitution, should lie resolute ly shunned by you as you prize personal beauty, your own peace of mind, and the happiness of others. “ Nothing so soon disgusts a man of sense and refinement, with even a pietty woman, as carelessness ami slovenliness in diess.— 1 am no great admirer of present modes and fashions. They arc but ill suited to the embarrassments of the limes and not very well adapted to our evercliauging climate. But 1 am no reformer, no censor of woman’s apparel. 1 make no decisions in sumptu ary laws. I would advise you, however, to study neatness in all things, to avoid extrav agance, because if it gratifies your vanity it may he the occasion of much trouble to others, and never offer the costly sacrifice of health to the evil genius of fashion, or suf fer yourselves to practice any mode that the proprieties of taste atulu delicate refinement may condemn. “ Cultivate n quiet temper and an habitu al cheerfulness. 11l natiii eis a great blem ish, even in the character of a mail, and is wholly incongruous to the native mildness, and inherent gentleness of your sex. A brave and chivrdrous husband would prefer tlie iage of battle to the storms of a wife’s wrath. Avoid a moody melancholy. It is a winter cloud filled with gloom and chill itlg blasts. Cheerfulness is a vernal sun, whose kindly rays hurst the buds and flow ers of hone, and fi’l the air with the fi a grance of enjoyment. “ With* persons of desponding temperaments it is a common opinion that tlieir fate is doomed to be dark, that because a few cherished schemes have been shattered, success is impossible, und that for them, life has no pleasures, and la bor no rewards.” They forgot that we weave for ourselves the web called destiny; in our own hearts in the spring of happiness, in our own spirits, fie the mystery und the power to make us what we would be.— There are sorrows enough in the world.— Our aim should be to reap from them expe rience and warning, but not to despond be cause tbe first visions of our youth wer© toq WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. wild to he fulfilled. The Soul is invigora ted by the difficulties and purified by tbe trials it meets and overcomes in tbe journey of life. “ Let sincerity mark your intercourse with tlie world. Elegance of manners re quires not the aid of duplicity. The love and practice of truth, in simplicity and sim pleness of heart are not only the source ot all good, hut gives to human conduct its true grace and dignity. True politeness, is the result of good sense, and good nature, and a knowledge of the artificial forma of fife, —a happy union of the cheerful and the moral, —a pleasant agreement of har mony and affection. The usages of tbe woild are often nothing more than a cold calculation of vanity, a petty game of firms in which every adventurer is subject to lose much and gain nothing. Thoughtless fri volity debases the mind by destroying the tone of ils moral energies ; and practiced smiles are often hut the gilded covering of a dark and revolting perfidy. But while you avoid the dissimulations of affability, guard w'ith equal care against a fault-finding and censorious temper. Under our present social system, women have not only more leisure than men, but they have fewer sub jects of interest to engross their attention. Tbe rules that regulate every household are generally well established, and form but seldom a subject of inquiry, and as fashion is fickle, and rumor is inventive, and the world is full of error, there is great danger in conversation of taste taking upon itself (beform of censure, of suspicion becoming • lie open violation of propriety, and of con jecture assuming the form of absolute facts. Let your future life and conduct silence the malevolent and put even calumny to shame, in the charge, that a tendency to evil speak ing, one of the hitler fruits of our corrupt and fallen nature, is a distinguishing trait in tin* character of your sex. “Be satisfied with no half way learning. Accuracy is as essential to the proper ele vation and distinction of knowledge, as in tegrity is to the just weight and diguity of personal character. A little learning is in deed a dangerous thing. Some of the grea test outbieakers against our laws are those who have obtained a sufficient acquaintance with letters to believe themselves smart, who have had the edge of their cunning whetted without any improvement in the temper of their principles. When the air is pure and the sun is bright the more acute is our vision, and the better our feelings* hut when the air is misty and highly rarifi ed, the more relaxed is our nervous system’ and the more liable are we to he deceived by optical illusions. So,in the mental world it often happens that he who sees but little, sees wrong. You ought to endeavor to ac quire information that may be useful to you* w hatever your future circumstances in life may be. **#* • * • “ The God of heaven has given bounds to the sea and limits tothe whirlwind, but He has never said to the human mind thus far shall thou go in the advancement of knowl edge and no faitlier, and here shall thy proud waves he stayed. Unlike the com mon things of earth, the mind does not waste away by use, but each struggle with the alluiements of folly and the obstruction of ignorance servas only to add new vigor to its powers and more extended boundaries to its capabilities. Cultivate therefore ao acquaintance not only with the exact scien ces which give quickness to the operations of the judgement, and force and stability to the reasoning powers, hut extend your re searches into all those branches of literature winch refine and harmonise all the moral af fections. With this training you will be prepared for all thevicisitudes of life. Ad versity will not overwhelm you, and pros perity will not harden your hearts. With resources of happiness within yourselves, you will not be subject to be controlled by the ficklo minds of prejudice or be driven • o evil by the angry currents of passion.— You may be the grateful instructor and de lightful companion of man, and while you do not “usurp authority over him,” you may impress upon his mind the law of kindness and show him the peace anti pleasantness that are to be found in the paths of wisdom. You may make home a sanctuary and tho fireside an alter, and cause paradise, lost by the fall, to hasten its return. You may aid in rearing a cot rect standard of excellence, in banishing ignorance and sorrow, impiety and injustice, fraud and violence from tho land, and in the exercise of this generous in fluence, in the fulfillment of these high du ties, you will meet the rewards of an ap proving conscience, the esteem of the good and the smiles of heaven, nud erect to the glory and dignity of your sex a monument more lasting thon brass, mote durable than marble.” Advice to TFtws.—There is not en hour in a day which a man so much likes to see his wife dressed with neatness, as when she leaves her bedroom and sits down to break fast. At any other moment vanity stimu lates her efforts at the toilette, for she ex pects to be seen—but at this retired and eatly hour, it is for the sake of cleanliness, for the sake of pleasing her husband. “A woman should never appear untidily or badly dressed in the presence of her boa. band.” While lie was her lover, what sad piece of business if be caught her dree* sed to disadvantage ! “ Oh, dear, there kt