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VOLUME 11. | BY C. R. IIANLEITER. P®ET K 7 - LAMENT. Thou s’.id;sl on, oil glimmering sircam, Thou inuraiurest on as ever ! Bot the heart most clear no more is here Forever and forever. No more—l hear it in the pines That moan with sullen roar — Those stars shall shine in eyes of thine No more--oh never more ! Grieve on, sad autumn wind, grieve on 1 .She lie ill the grass beneath, I make my moan by her grave alone, For the violets have her breath. 0:i lonely night loh wandering at -n,n 1 [Jave ye no word lor me ? Oh love and sorrow ! oh day and morrow 1 Must ye forever be ? ;L ■ A MATCH FOR the MATCH-MAKER. BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. The blessings of die skies all awai a boat her; Jh ahli, grace, inimitable beauty wreathed Round every motion : On her lip the r so Has left its sweetness —(For what bee to kiss ?) And from the darkening heaven of her eyes A starry spirit loots ouli Cmitba I, ivo ? Baksv Cokxwalu. CHATTER I. It was the misfortune of Eleanor How ard to have no pmiector l>t l l a manceuver ing -.mnt, ami a great misfortune it is to a girl so sensitive, so high-souled as wits our heroine. Mrs. Howard, herself a leader of the ton, wns determined her niece should mike a brilliant match, and she spared no pins to bring it about; hut the more she* tried to show her off, the more she kept her on ; for Eleanor was a git! of spirit as well as delicacy, and though her aunt hid man aged repeatedly, hy dint of the most dainty manoeuvres, the most skillful get tiera!sliip, to bring an “ eligible” to her feet, Eleanor, with a quiet dignity peculiar to herself, in vaiiahly hade them rise, and gave them to understand that they had mistaken them selves and her. Mrs. Howard was in despair ; not that , Eleanor was a harden to her—by no means i ,'ihe was no dependant —she had a little iti enme of her own ; and was moreover a gay am] charming companion for the sometimes lonely widow. But the lady flattered herself she had a natural talent —she certainly had a natural itsle —for match making. Indeed she had never known it to tail before. She had married off three nieces in as many years, neither of them half so interesting ns Elean or, and she was more vexed at her want of success in this instance than she chose to avmv. Toe men were astounded, the women amazed and incredulous. Both saw through the designs of the aun*, and half suspected the niece of partaking them, until her re peated refusals of rank, wealth and fashion convinced them in spite of their spite to the contrary. CHAPTER It. In the mean time, Eleanor chatted and laughed, and sang and danced as gaily and sweetly as ever, and looked as bewitching r.s possible, and did every thing she could to please her indulgent aunt, except —“ the one thing needful.” She would worn ...1 her dresses clasped at the throat—though her neck had the dazzling tint of alabaster —site would sing her gayest songs when she ought to have sung the most tender ones; and she would smile just as enchant ngly on a penniless poet as on a haughty millionaire. \V|,at was to he done with the proud ano willful maiden 1 Was she looking for a coronet I We shall see. About this time an English nobleman ar rived in New York, and a succession of Puties were given in his honor hv the dlite of the city. Rich, elegant and fascinating, lie was caressed and flattered hy mammas, ami smiled and blushed at by daughters, till his handsome head was almost tinned. Xow!” said the mint, “ if I can only iuing him to the point, I am sure het. She must he mat hie to resist him.” And o she laid her plans; hut unfortunately for her, Lord F had laid his plans also.— He had his “mind’s eye” wide open, nl tlmiigh he pretended for the joke’s sake to have" 1 it shut; he saw at n glance her aim. and believed that the charming Eleanor, with all her pretended nonchalance, shared in ii fully. He fancied them both fair game, ami resolved to amuse himself with, to use his own words. “ their absurd expecta tions.” And Eleanor thought it perfectly natural, this youthful love of amusement — she liked a joke herself, and had not the lightest objection to the gentleman having his; hut not at her expense, oil no! So s hc. ion, laid her plans. “ My dear aunt,” she said one morning, coaxitigly, and with a demure archness of manner, which rather puzzled the person addressed ; “ inv dear aunt, leave this one to me.” ” 1 do not understand you, child ! “ Let vie. manoeuvre this time. 1 prom 's to succeed. He shall propose in six months. Please, aunt ?” II You arc a saucy girl, to intimate that 1 have ever manoeuvred —but have your own JL W@©Mj K'©wsip®.Tp©i3f § H3)©y@&sdi t® 3?©M"Hgs 3 Kffs, IM-isiratanr®* Arte* ©oaoni©®, <§&©<> way—l give it up, ’ and, with an approving smile that quite contradicted her first words, Mrs. Howard continued to herself, exulting lv, “ 1 he biul is caged at last !” CHAPTER 111. i Left to herself, unrestrained by her aunt’s j smveillance—hy cautions, hints and praises ! —utihtimilialed hy the consciousness of be i big nightly “ shown off,” Eleanor was mote ! enchanting, more lovely than ever. If ever | a delicate touch of coquetry was excusable j in any case, it certainly was in this. Lord i I* was caught in his own net, ere he was aware of his danger. Now with a proud and almost imperial dignity repelling his advances, and now with sportive playful ness replying to them—at one time sad, shrinking and sensitive, at another joyous ami fiank as a child, Eleanor, with exqui site tact, outmanoeuvred her aunt and her lover at once, without in the least compro mising her ma’.deti delicacy ; for she never for a moment gave what any one hut a very vain man would have dated to call cncour l agement to his devotion. Yes ! Lord F was caught in his own net, as he deserved to he, and he had no al | tentative hut to lay his hand, heart and for- I tunc at her feet. Eleanor listened in tranquil silence til! ho j had finished, and then, calmly adjusting a I bracelet on her arm, told him very gravely 1 that she had made a resolution never to marry a title. Lord F looked at her in profound j amazement, and it required all her self-pos ( session to subdue the smile which was try ing to play round her lips. After a few moments’ pause lie resumed, with a half suppressed sigh at his own magnanimity. “And if, for your sweet sake, dealest, j loveliest ! I renounce my title, then 1” “Oh! Then I should be exceedingly l obliged to you ; but the truth is, 1 have sol : emtilv determined never to manv a man of ) wealth.” Lord F was confounded. His very i eyebrows “ rose to reply.” But he con j queied once more his dismay and siuprise, ; and, gazing passionately on her beautiful ; downcast face, where the rosy light of love ! seemed dawning into day, exclaimed with I renewed fervor, “ And what are riches in comparison with j you —with your love, my treasure ? Hence | forth I am penniless if that will please you. | I will endow hospitals, churches, universi ties, asylums, poor-houses, notaries. I will do any thing you wish !” Eleanor began to he alarmed. “\\ hat am Ito do with him V’ she said to herself —“ whoever heaid of such an accommoda ting man ? It is very vexatious !” And then her conscience reproached her a little, 1 and. touched hy the ready generosity of her lover, hot eyes filled with tears of self-re proach ; hut a timely recollection of his supercilious manner on their first acquaint ance restored her native pride, and, smiling through her tears, she replied, j “ I thank your lordship for your prefer ! once of myself to so many more worthy of you in rank and fortune; l app eciute yout ! disinterestedness and grieve for your disap pointment, hut—” His eyes flashed impatiently. “ But what, Miss Howard ?” “I have made a vow never to unite my self to a foreigner on any account whatev er.” The Englishman sprung to his feet and | left the house in a rage. It was too had— | was it not ? IJis title, his wealth, his biitli ! place, all of which would have been so ,na ’ uv passpoits to the favor of most young la dies in her situation, were here used posi tively as reasons for declining his addresses! It was indeed too bad. CHATTER IV. Th” truth is, Eleanor loved, devotedly, J fondly, but iri secret, a young .Southerner, a | Georgian, who had appeared in New York about the same time with Lord F . And i to conceal this love she assumed a gayety, j a dainty and refined coquetry of manner I which was intended to deceive, not only the I- object of her affection, but all'the fushiona ! ble world beside. j Ernest Cutbbert was the only person, in J the circle of her acquaintance, who thor oughly understood and appreciated the no j hie and proud natuie of our heroine. He i read her soul like a book—a rich and rate ’ missal which was locked to all but him. — ! It was the magic key of sympathy which I thus revealed to him the lights and shadows, ; the deep and mysterious harmony of her J high-toned character. He loved her with I all the fervor and earnest enthusiasm of a i young and passionate heat t. and sometimes I he fancied that she returned his love. He I perceived that she was humbled and vexed by her aunt’s constant endeavors to make j her display her graces and accomplish merits; lie admired her sensitive pride, ami he let her see that he felt with her ami fin her. And now Mrs. Howard, driven to des | peration hy Eleanor’s refusal of Lord | [<’ ( renewed her dibits with redoubled ! vigilcnce. Ernest Cutbbert was one of the j first matches in the country —she must on | no account let him slip through the toils pro | pared for him. “ Eleanor, love, I have told Florwtte to take out your embroidered satin dress and the diamond spray tor your Loir. You know young Cuthhert will be of the party.” MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA. FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1844. Half an lion t afterward, “Eleanor, love” , entered the drawing-room, in a plain white 1 rMie of linen cambric, with her graceful ! hair simple, almost carelessly art tinged, and I without a si ll o]<. ornament. But she look ed so hesriti liingly beautiful, with the blush I coining and going <m her cheek, and the half tearful smile in her eloquent eyes, that I her aunt could not find it in her heart to scold. “ Eleanor, dear, sing Ml. Cutbbert that [ song you composed yourself. It is so touch ! ing ! Let me see, what is the first line ? ! 1 My heait is like a— ’” “ Eleanor, dear” spoitively drowned her aunt’s and her voice too in a spirited waltz, I and then began to sing the gayest and least sentimental song she could think of. j “ 1 see you aie detet mined,” said Cutli -Ibbet, smiling as he leaned over the iustru | meiit. “ Determined on what, Mr. Cutbbert ?” j “To make me lespocl even more tl an I | love you, if that can be !” be whispered 1 passionately, forgetting, iti the entranee inent of the moment ntul in the charm of her presence, that he had chosen a very awk i ward time and place for a declaration. Involuntarily Eleanor raised her eyes, I filled with tears of blended sorrow and de light, to his face : the l ext moment she ! smiled, shook her head playfully, and Itiiish- J ed the song. CHAPTER V. “ ”'T it is the matter, Nelly,” said her ’ aunt, the next morning as they sat together : in the library; “you have neither smiled nor sung today! I <lo believe you are in love at last.” I Eleanor had been silting for half an hour j with her graceful haru] over her eyes, and j she did not remove it as she answered in a I low, faltering voice, j “ Dear aunt, lam not quite well to-day. “ But 1 know by your voice you are cry ing, Nell. Tell me what troubles you.” j “ Mr. Cutiibert, ma’am !” said a servant, j opening the door ; “shall I show him in !’ i “ Yes, John ceitaitily > and, .Tulin, order 1 niv carriage round directly. Can Ido any i thing for you, Eleanor i iam going to ! simp.” Eleanor did not hear her. The carriage j c one, Mrs. Howard departed, and the lov ! ers were left alone. “ And now, my poor Eleanor, now you i must say ‘ ves.’ There is no chance of es i cape this time. You love him and he wot -1 shins you. Bea good child now, and don’t make a fuss about it.” ■ And Ernest told his love with all the el -1 oquence ofwbii hhe was master. There was I no reply. The hand was still over the eyes that he wanted so much to look into, and in j trying to withdraw it he discovered that she I was weeping. “ Teats, Eleanor ! and for me ! Speak to me, dearest ! Do not keep me thus in ’ suspense. Once more, will vou he mine V’ j “No !” Cuthhert started as if a thunderbolt had | fallen at his feet—though her voice was seas rely audible. *• No, Eleamw ! What does this mean ? I feel that you love mi—” Eleanor sobbed passionately. “ Are you lesolvotl not to have me ]” “1 am!” This time the tone was distinct and firm. “ Then, Miss Howuifl. I must uish you a vet v o.md morning.” and with a stately stc]> lie left t! le rtmm. And the p: ud maiden, pressing her ‘ hands •• ■nuiis'vclv on her heait, listened to hi -i eci diiM; f <otsteps atul murinured. “Dear, dear Ernest ! ’1 hank God it is over !” Before Ernest had walked the length of j one square from the house, anew light flashed upon his mind. “That’s it hy Hea ven ! She is a noble creature, and sin* shall he mine yet, if misfortune can make her 1 SO. “ What, he too!” exclaimed her aunt and the wotlil tlie next day when they heard I the news; fin the lover had purposely j spread it. “ The giil is perfectly possess I ed!” CHAPTER Vs Three months went by atul Eleanor llow -1 aid, pale, hut still very lovely, was yet seen ! at times, though seldom, in the gay circles of which she had been once the brightest j ornament. j Quo evening, at s musical soiree, she was turning over some engravings on a ta ! ble, when a lady near her exclaimed to a ’ neighbor, “ Look ! Thete is Mr. Cufhbeit just entering ! How he lias altered ! How pule tie looks ! He has just returned from the South, where lie has been to settle his affairs. lam toll! that he has lost all of his ! property; that one night in a fit—some say of derangement, some, of intemperance— -1 lie staked his whole estate upon a single throw, and lost! And now he has nothing to depend upon hut his talents as an an ; thor.” Eleanor cast one hurried glance toward the door—Kinest was gazing at her with a lmik so full of sorrowful interest that she could not meet his eyes again, and she soon afterward took her leave, het heart throb bing with mingled anguish and joy. As ! she passed her lover, she said, in a low, hur ried tone, inaudible to all but to him. “Let me see you to-moirow, Ernest!” i She did not see the glow of happy exul tation which lighted tip his handsome sea- tores as she spoke ; for she dared not raise , her eves lest si,e should betray her emo- j t lions to the croud around. The uiormw came—the aunt and niece j were again in the library. ” Well, Eleanor.” said Mrs. Howard, j “so it seems Mr. Cuthbert has lost all bis 1 property.” “ Yes, Heaven !” “Thank Heaven ! What a heartless creature von are, Eleanor ! 1 teally thought you loved that man.” ! “ And so I did and do ! Oh ! aunt, you cannot guess how fotidlv, how truly 1 love him! Would to Heaven he would renew his proposals—l would not hesitate now to accept him.” “ Now ! Penniless, and through his own imprudence! Yon, who have refused such offers ! Eleanor Howard, you ate mad !” “And it wns precisely because they were 1 such offers that 1 did refuse. I have made 1 a vow never to many n rich mao.” “ But what can have induced you —” ” Mr. Cutlibeit, ma’am. Shall l show j him in ?” said a sen ant opening the door. “ Yes, John,” said Mrs. Howard, with a sigh, and this time she did not older her cut- j tinge. _ After ti few moment’s rest tin nod <*>n\et- : sation, Eleanor looked up frankly and brave ly in her aunt’s face, and said, with a sweet j and maidenly dignity w hich few could re- j >l> t , j “ Aunt, I wish to have n few moments j conversation, alone, with Mr. Cuthbert.— I \\ ill you permit it ! ’ “Certainly, niece, of course if you wish ; 1 but ! m-ast say that it is very strange —ve- ! i ty 1” And the lady sailed out of the room in a stately pet. For a moment the young girl’s embar- ! rnssnicnt and agitation overcome her, and 1 she buried her fare in bet bands; hut, re covering hetsclf, she turned to Ernest and said, softly, “ Ei nest, do you love me still ?” ” Love vou ! Oh, Heaven ! too much —too madly! But lam no longer worthy of your acceptance. on have heard of my losses, Misß Howard ; why do you mock i i me thus ?” “ Mock you, dear Ernest !” She laid her little hand timidly in bis, anti with mod i est (itmness continued, “ Mr. Cutlibeit, ever since we first met 1 i ba*e loved you. 1 refused your proposal hecaust—because—nay, it does not mailer : j why. But now, if this band and the heait ; that must go with it can console you for voiii loss, forgive this utiruaideuly boldness and—take them if you will.” i She bid her face upon his shoulder, and Ernest Cutlibeit, with his whole soul in ihe embrace with which lie held her to his heait, j bade Heaven bless her fur her truth. CHAPTER VII. One morning, a week after the wedding, as,Mis. Cuthbert was sitting at work in her simplv furnished epaitment, and her hus band preparing to go out, a middle aged 1 gentleman, will? a benevolent aspect, enter ed tlie loom, and, walking straight up to tin* bride, kissed her gravely on both cheeks. 1 For a moment she was confounded, but see ing Ernest smile at her surprise, she said, laughingly,” Ah ! 7 know—it is your kind, generous uncle, whom you have talked so nme i about !” and she welcomed him w ith such graceful cordiality that bis heart was | won at once. “ And now,” said he, after a little pleas- | ant chat, “ 1 have a story to tell you both, ! so sit down, nephew, and listen. ” About six months since, I met, one morning, a young man rushing impetuously round Washington Square. He grasped inv hand as he passed, exclaiming, * Don’t stop me now—l am in a despeiate butry.’ ‘So I should suppose,’said 1. On he went, and 1 turned and followed him—ho entered a gaming-house, 1 was astonished. It was ; ihe first time in his life, and I knew that something of consequence must have oc culted to induce bim to take such a step. — I followed urq.-eiceived. lie ascended the stairs. 1 burrowed, a common cloak and a large hat from a waiter, slouched the latter over niv eyes, and, thus disguised, criteietL, the loom above. 1 sow that lie was bent on high pinv, and 1 determined to be his j opponent. By a little management 1 gain ed tnv object.” “ Uncle 1” exclaimed Ernest, “ was it in deed you ?” ‘Be quiet, sir, and bear me out ! He was evidently desperate, and determined to risk all in the contest, lie played with the strongest recklessness —1 knew not wliut to make of him. 1 have since heard that a lit tle, self-willed, romantic girl, who hud turn ed his head and her own too with her sen timental nonsense, had refused him for a most absurd reason—you will hardly be lieve it, Mrs. Cuthbert —you, who appeal to be such a sensible and rational woman.” “ And what was it ?” asked Eleanor, blushing and laughing at the look of comi cal meaning he favored her with. “Oh ! lie was too rich, she said, and so ho adopted the shortest means he could | think of to rid himself of liis troublesome estate. 1 won it all for him before he Ijad been seated ten minutes. lie looked quite / relieved when rny throw decided against him, us it a load hail been taken off Ins liwait, and, seizing my hand, he thanked me with as much politeness and warmth ns if Iliad made him a valuable present.” “ Oli, Ernest ! Ob, uncle !” f ‘ ” Hold your tongue, you gipsy ! I will be lieaid. I bnVe now come to restore hijn [ tlie deeds, which were immediately made over to riie under a feigned name, and “ wash my hands of the whole ridiculous t f fair.” _ A ‘ Ernest embraced bis uncle in silent grat itude, and Eleanor pouting, amidst tea *s and smiles, declared that she was cheated, j betrayed, that she would not suhm t to an h j a shameful imposition, that site would ba’ e | a div—: but liete her vehement protest a j lions were stopped by a kiss from Erne if, while tlie good uncle laughed and rubbl’d | his hands and swore that she was the mi st j amusing woman lie e'er saw in his life. I p©lLo7 OOA L a From the Richmond Wiiig.l j A LETTER FROM MR. RIVES. I t The follow ing letfei from the Hon, W il-- ; Jiiim C. Ifives, ns will be seen from its fan*, was written ton personal and political ftienll ’ in Hanover, but’another gentleman, liavinfc learned in a conversation with Mr. Rivtjs that he bad written such a letter, rntitaininc a full expression of bis views on tlie subjeclt of the Presidential election, has obtained h copy of the letter, with permission to hevtt it published, as the best means of satisfyinJ nil inquiries and removing all doubts as til the course Mr. Rives will pursue in the op# pleaching contest : Washington, January 1, 1544. My Dear .Sir : It seems to be now defin-l itivelv settled that the country is to be cull 1.-d upon to retract the solemn dt cision prof nouticed by it in 1840 upon the demerits oil Mr. Van Buren’s administration, and to re-1 stole him to power, without a solitary ntone-l tnetil for the past or pledge of amendment! for the futuie. The indications which have! been given hero, since the assembling of! Congress, are too significant to be tnisunder-1 stood. The Convention at Baltimore will I have nothing to do but to legisternnd pro- j claim the edict of the caucus in the Capitol. Ir this stati- of things, are we, who have so. often testified in the face of the world uur deep and earnest convictions of the fatal and demoral zing tendencies of Mr.A an Buren -s whole system of political action, to stand aside with folded arms, and to shrink into an inglorious, I had alnio.-.t said, treasonable neutrality, In cause of some differences of opinion fit questions of public policy bom Mr. Clnv, which a wise spiiit of moderation, ami the recognised arbitrament of the public will, are daily narrowing in magnitude and extent ? I humbly think not. The election of Chief Magistrate of the Nation is one of those vital processes piovi ded bv the Constitution of the country fm the periodical regeneration of our system by a fresh infusion into it of the elements of popular health and viituc, in which no good citizen, unless under circumstances of a very peculiar character, cat) properly refuse to take a part, and, to the extent of bis influ ence and example, a derided and efficient part. When the vast moral and political in fluence of tlie office, as well as its direct at tributes of positive and controlling powei, are considered, it can never be a matter of indifference, or even of an equal balance of countervailing motives of preference or ob jection, who shall fill it. Tliete is always a choice; and though the making oft hat choice may sometimes be embarrassed by conflict ing considerations, arising out of a want of entire coincidence of opinion with either of the opposing candidates, ir is only the more incumbent on ns todetermine our piefetenee with care and deliberation, according to the best lights of our uttders'nndings; and, when once conscientiously formed, fearlessly and unhesitatingly to act it out. In the approaching Presidential contest, then, we ought not anu we cannot be neutral; and if, as every thing now indicates is lobe the case, that contest shall be between Mr. Van Buren unci Mr. Clay, 1 have as little hesitation in saving that there is but one line of action by which we can acquit ourselves of the full measure of our duty to the coun ; try ; and thu! is, waiving all minor consider tiuns, to give a manly and determined sup poit to Mr. Clay in preference to Mr. Van Buren. For myself, I etui conceive of no greater calamity to the nation, or deeper dis credit to the cause and very name of popu lar government, than t! e re-election of Mr. Van Buren would be, alter the signal and ! overwhelming majority by which he was so j recently cl-p< st and fioin power, upon the full 1 eat canvass of his measures, policy, and cun ! duct. * The host of vindictive passions which fol : low in the train of restored Governments— ’ the crowds of hungry retainer*, pleading the j merit of past services, who press forward to claim the lewuid of their fidelity, or indem nity for sacrifice!! and losses inclined in the common cause—the infatuated and pertina cious attachment to ancient abuses—the ar ! library and self w illcd habits nurtured in the fmmer possession of power—the commit ment to favorite but pernicious sebt rues of policy,’ liave all concurred to give a soit of proverbial riirroncyto the rematk of a cele brated Hiiglidi sVatestnan and historian, that the woist and most dangerous of all rerolu tiops is a restoration.* i hut all these evils * .Mr. Fox, in lii llls*>rj* of Janits II.; ■r j NUMBER 43. W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. would ln realized Jo the widest extent, and in their most unmitigated virulence, in the lest oration of Mr. Van Huron, none can t)oul>t who have been attentive observers of tne selfish and vitious system of party policy exemplified in the creed and conduct of him* self and his friends, or who*have not forgot ten that rnemmoble motto of party rapacity, so boldly emblazoned on the shields of his chosen followers, which, in proclaiming “ trt the victors belong the apoils of victory,” shamelessly pointed to the offices and pub lic trusts of the country os the rightful plun der of political waifare. Hut, to return to the remark I have alrea dy made. Could any thing inflict a deeper wound on the cause of republican institutions than such a spectacle of levity anti ihstnbilw rr on the part of the constituent body as stotuld he exhibited in the restoration of Mr. V m Bureii, afier the overwhelming con. dvmnation of his administration pronounced by the almost unanimous electoral voice ot the country but three sliort years ago ? Would it not render popular government if sejf a “ by word and a taunt” among the nations ? In IS4O the A met'can people, up on the fullest and most deliberate hearing of both sides of the political controversy—of the frier ds as Well as of the opponents of Mr.Vanßuren—recorded their votes sgainst him by such a majority us never before sig nalized the retreat of any minister from pow er,and was till then utterly unparalleled ami evfn unapptoached in the histoiy of >ur I'4‘sidftitiol contest*. Os the Iwentv-six States composing the Union he received the votes of hut seven, and all of these (except one) among the smallest of the Confederacy; of the 294 votes of the Electoral Colleges lie Obtained hut GO ; and of the popular suf frages, a majority of 145,000, out of the free and enlightened citizens of America who vo ted in the election, gave in their accumuln -ted verdict against him. And yet, in the face of this solemn finding of the gieat in quest of the body of the nation—while the echo of the general voice which pronounced it has not yet died upon flic ear—a bold at tempt is made to induce the people to take hack their own sell led juid well cmuuxLsrad i judgment,and,in elevating again to the high lest office of the Republic the individual lwbom they had so recently and delihctalely deposed, pronounce a flagrant sentcrceTf stuliifii aiii a and incompetence upon them selves. 1 know not in what light other miito may v'cw such a proceeding; hut to me it seems a contemptuous sporting with the sovereign constituency of the country —a sheer mockery and insult to the public in telligence. And by what means is Mr. Van Burro to be again presented as the legitimate and anointed candidate of the Democratic party? Not certainly by the will of the great body of the party, who, we have every reason to believe, deprecate and deplore the madness and folly of the act, but by the secret anil invisible agency of self-constituted conclave* and caucuses, controlled with absolute sway by a few bold and adroit political managers. I run no risk in saying that if the individuals composing the party throughout the Union could be interrogated, upon their voir dire, to say whom they would prefer rs the Pres idential nominee of the patty, three-fourths of them at least, and probably a far larger propoition, would uuliesitatingly declare’ their preference for some new candidate.— And yet, in utter contempt of the popular sentiment of the party, and disdainfully re jecting the o:.ly equitable as well ns practi cable mode of at riving at the will of the ma jority through the medium of a fair, equal, and uniform popular representation in the nominating Convention, the fiiends of Mr. Van Buren (holding on to the old machinery of party discipline and subordination, deriv ed to litem from the cunning order of the Jesuits through the bloody Jacobinical Clulw of Revolutionary Fiance, by which one or two active spiliis ore enuLled to suppress the will and control tlie movements of vast and entire bodies of men) imperiously de clare that he, and he only, shall be the can didate of the party. Is it not time that honor able and patiiotic men, us they respect the dignity of their own characters, the privi leges of freemen, and the sacred principles of Kepublican Government, should unite ill one generous and virtuous straggle to over - throw, effectually and forever, the tyranny of a system which, if now submitted to, must finally ciniveit our noble popular institutions into the worst of all dominations—that of all unsctupulous and sordid party oligaichy. And what are the wise and benignant measures of administrative policy w hich are promised ns as the fruits of Mr. Van Buien’a restoration ? A return to the glories and blessings of the sub-Treasury system—a te newod war upon the currency, commerce, and business of the country ! Just at the moment when, by the were fact of the w ith drawal of the hostility of the Government, and that vis mvdicatrix natural which is in herent in the energies of a fiee, entetpi isiug and industrious people, all the business pur suits of the nation me regaining their pros peiity and activity, tiud the currency and ex changes of the country are finding their prop er and tiHtuial level, every thing ia to ho replunged into a chaos of wild and pernici ous experiments, simply to signalize a tc uiutseless party tiiuniph, in the consumma tion of a measure openly at war with cveiy great practical interest of the community.-.. And to this would he added, by a natural and necessary Connexion, all that long traits