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VOL. I. m mmm& siMsa >■ pabli*hi*d, srery Friday morning, in Macon, Ga. on tho follow. CONDITIONS : U paid ,itritly in advance - $2 50 per annum If not so paid - - . - 300 “ u Legal Advertisements will be made to conform to the following pro visions of the Statute : Saltt of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard ians, are required by law to be advertised in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. These sales must be held on the first Tuesday In the month, between the hour* of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the ‘Court House in the county in which the property is situated. The sales of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner for ty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary foj leave to sell I .and and Negroes, must be published weekly for four months. (Tijr i]cWfs Cnrnpr, IDOL’S OF LODE, No. 6. TIE VIOLET IN THE VALLEY OF REST. An Elegy on the Death of my little Child. BV T. H. CIIIVERS, M. D. TThan Holon wept for the death of his son, someone said, ‘•Weep 'll will not help.” He answered, “.lias ! therefore , / veep, because ’vxxping vitl not help P *“Let Grief be her own mistress still, Hhelovetli her own anguish deep More than # much pleasure. Let her will Be done—to weep or not to weep."—'Tenkyso*. If Hshed is now thy bitter crying, Folded in the calm serene Os the peace of God undying, Beautiful, divine Kuqene ! For thy soul ascends, returning Back to Ileaven where it was born, With Bratus in it burning For the Everlasting Morn. May the Lord in Heaven have mercy On thy soul, my darling child ! Precious, blue-eyed Eugene Percy ! Blessed babe that never smiled ! Tenderest tears of sorrow ever From my heart’s deep fount shall flow, Watering love’s sweet flower forever, Which by tears can only grow. Losing that divinest treasure God in Heaven had given to use, Nothing now can give me pleasure But the hopes of meeting thee. May the Lord in Heaven have mercy On thy soul, my darling child ! Precious, blue-eyed, Eugene Percy ! Blessed babe that never smiled ! Like the Moon in her own splendor, W ailing on some cloudless night, | Lay thy lilly-limbs so tender, Shrouded in their own pure light. Now thy blessed star-like spirit, Glory-circled, full of love, Doth the joys of Heaven inherit, Cradled in Christ’s breast above. Thu# the lard in Heaven has mercy On thy soul, my darling child ! Precious, blue-eyod Eugene Percy ! Blessed babe that never smiled ! From the Fountain’s Everlasting Flowing out of God’s great store, Thy pure spirit now is tasting / Bliss divine forever more. Hushed is now thy bitter crying, • Folded in the calm serene Os the peace of God undying, Beautiful, divine Eugene ! Thus the Lord in Heaven has mercy On thy soul, my darling child ! Precious, blue-eyed Eugene Percy 1 Blessed babe that nevr smiled I Underneath the saintly roses Blooming round me while I weep, Near where Florence now reposes— Take thy fill of peaceful sleep! Silent on thy satin pillow Rest thy pensive little head, While above the Weeping Widow Tells my sorrows for the dead ! For the Lord in Heaven has mercy On thy soul, my darling child ! Precious, blue-eyed Eugene Percy ! Blessed babe that never smiled ! From the Ohio Statesman. Mechanics’ Fourth of July Bong 1 . BY R. E. 11. LEVERING. Respect fully dedicated to the working classes throughout tho world, whose stalwart physical and moral strength have gained existing freedom, and will grasp from the hands of tyrants the remaining liberty. Air— “ Martyn.” L . Rone and sinew of the land, Know your rights and by them stand On this glorious day retrace Deeds of our own working race ! We the nation’s bulwark stand! Freedom came by our right hand— Guided by a Washington, Seo the blessiugs we have won ! 11. Mark the Boston harbor scene! Bold mechanics there could win— They could scorn the British kink, While the proud were cowering 1 Glory in your glorious name. Lighted by immortal fa mo— First to crush the galling cliain ! First to strike and strike again 1 hi. Torn to the storied Lexington, See the “workies'’ working on! Farmers and mechanics there Spill their blood the cause to share ! Wurkies ! let this day inspire Your own breasts with their own fire — Let the right o’er might prevail, As we tell the workies tale ! IV. Freedom’s bird on Bunker’s height. Saw them boldest in the fight, First to deal the blows around, Last to quit the battle ground ! Working men of ev’ry grade, Shout for courage thus display’d, Feeling in another war, Ye could act those glories o’er ! v. Pass along through ev’ry fray, Down to Yorktown’s closing day, Alpha and Omega still, Freedom triumphs by their skill! War kies of each noble art, you lives those truths impart, Showing still the hero true. In each word and work ye do ! vi. Workies ! ! see your flag displayed, Stars and stripes that ye have made: Stars to light your onward path, Stripes to show the workies’ wrath ! By your arm it floated first, Crushing tyranny accurst; By your strength it still shall wave, As ye rise the land to save! VII. On your country’s altar swear, Still the nation’s fame to rear. Swear this matchless day shall see Workies , like their fathers, free ; Raise the cry for quick 1 Reform !’ Get it by the soul’s right arm : Win it by improving mind, A s the proud to bless ye bend ! VIII. Let this festal day have charm, Ev’ry party feud disarm. Joining still with heart and hand, Sarc yourself to save the land ! Let Columbia show your might. As on kings descends the blight, ( Let posterity proclaim Workies ’ deeds and workies’ fame. #%dliuu}. The Good Demon. BY MARY AB B Y SMITH. A Breton gentleman had a wife, a lady in whom the most brilliant beauty and the most enchanting graces were joined to the greatest prudence, the the most cultivated mind, and the highest character. But however liberal nature might haee been with his amiable companion, fortune had been pro portionately niggardly with him ; so that, leaving his very small patrimony in the care of his prudent consort ho trusted himself to the sea, placing his hopes of a fortunate future in commerce, and tor many years quietly remained far from his country and wife, upon whose immaculate faith he well knew how much he could depend. Indeed, the conduct of the lady during his absence was such as might be expected from a faithful wife and a vigilant housekeeper : so that she gained much honorable reputation, so much the more universally esteemed, in that, being yonng beautiful, and highly accomplished, on the many occasions which even the least corrupted society too frequently oilers, she never permitted in herself any of those actions which, how ever innocent in themselves, throw some suspicion upon vir tue, too easily darkened by the least cloud, like breath upon a mirror. This virtue, although so justly scrupulous, was nei ther so savage nor severe as to forbid her the society ; there fore without ever losing sight of any of her duties, the beau tiful gentlewoman sometimes attended the pleasant parties giuen by her friends, and sometimes collected them together er in her own house, with the prudent and wise selection in spired by her discernment. It was carnival time. The desire of amusing herself a lit tle, and of rendering to her friends, at the same time, those attentions she was accuslamed to give them, induced her to give at her house, a little dancing party with play and a sup per. The bareful economy with which sho used her hus band’s means, permitted her to do this without detriment. At last all that could epuduce to the pleasure and ease of a small but liable party, was prepared. Already the torches and taper made a lively contrast with the night. Already, numerous instruments, with joyous sounds, excited tho genius and agility of the nimble dancers. Already, handsome coup les of adorned young people of both sexes, some masked and others unmasked, trod the mazy dance in regular figures, o bedient to the power of the harmonious orchestra. The liberal mistress of such a noble entertainment, who did not thing it right for her to during the absence of her hus band, remained in one of the chambers adjoining the hall, with some select friends engaged in debate, in which the glory of conquering rendered them eager, rather than the vile and injurious desire to gain. AY hen behold! a rather neat masker in the dress of an attorney, with several law papers un der hjs arm, accosted the banker, and after the first civil at tentions, offered a challenge of play to the mistress of the par ty, which she generously accepted. Five or six games were played in which each one put down a moderate stake, and fortune seemed always to decide against the challenger, and always in favor of the lady. But when any of the others challenged her and the attorney, the latter, without intermis sion gained all the money, lie never, lost, except with the lady of the house, so that those who stood around began to suspect that, under this disguise, some secret and high-born lover of hers was concealed. In communicating their conjectures to their neighbors, they could be so circumspect but then the vigilant, intent, more than any other, skillfully to divine their discourse, did not very soon comprehend the subject of it; and in order more strongly to confirm them in their fallacious inductions, he turned to several who were talking about him in alow tone, and said— ‘l am the god of riches !’and then drawing from his pock ets many purses filled with shining coin, he proprosed to the lady, the constant mark of all his attentions, a strange chal lenge in the following terms : ‘I will stake all this gold a gainstall that you possess.’ The lady was frightened at so extraordinary a proposal and refused it. lie then passed from the challenge to the offer ing, begging her with gestures of tho ingenuous cordiality, to accept as a gift, that immense sum of gold. But if she could not dispense with the proper acknowledgements for so liberal an offering, she knew how to refuse it, as well as the challenge in a polite manner. Meanwhile, so extraordinary an event excited and gossip of many, and an amusing variety of opinions. One good old lady imagined and concluded, with all serious ness, that he has none other than Satan himself, under a mask. A wag understood her, and amused himself with confirming her in so fine a judgement, by various arguments. Stength cned by this, the fantastical old lady could no longer be silent until she had disseminated her opinion, which, indeed, was embraced by many of the more credulous and weak-minded, until a mere chimerical idea was turned into an irrefragable certaihty. The playful attorney, who had waggishly sceconded the first conjecture of the company with regard to-himself, with equal case assisted in confirming this second extravagance, speak ing first in many and various tongues, in which he was well versed, and then saying— “ I am come from Ilades, to take possession of a lady who has for a long time been given to me, and I will not depart from this place until, by some means or other, I shall have her in my power.” This discourse, added to the preceding facts, caused all the suspicions and fears to fall upon the lady of the house.— Those timorous persons whose fears had been raised by their imaginations, were in great affright on her account, and already were seriously talking about resorting to some effica cious means of driving away so terrible an enemy. • Many wondered in uncertainty, and not being able to settle upon an\ opinion, passed alternately from laughter to fright. The more sensible persons, always the smaller part of any astern- “Jubqicnhcnt iu all tljiugs —Neutral in Notljing.” MACON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JULY, 19, 1850. blage, quietly awaited the denouement of so pleasant a come dy. The beautiful gentlewoman was among these last, and enjoyed highly the comical ear which filled so many minds in her favor. Meanwhile, the cunning attorney who had in .■*> fine a man ner assured himself of the prudence of the lady, and who had now sufficiently amused himself, began to develope mat ters, and returned to the bystanders exactly tho amount of money he had won from each one, adding— “ Beware of risking your money against the devil, who always knows how to win when lie wishes.” lie thus, continuing the fable, displayed an indispensable act of probity; because, iif playing with them he had made use of that vile talent and that culpable dexterity, which always determines in favor of him who manages the fortune of the cards. lie had condescended to make use of it, be cause at that time he rejoiced in promoting an innocent and amusing deception of others 5 but sho should be highly asham ed to discover and make himself known, without having first fulfilled the duty of an honest man. Finally, in the midst of the instense agitation of all minds, he took off his mask and was immediately recognized as the husband of the gentlewomen, who, on seeing him, gave a loud cry of joy and threw herself into his arms. “ I return,” said he to her, “from very prosperous trade; and wealth, happy companion of my travels, comes with me; it would be less grateful to me, if I could not divide it with thee, my dear wife. Is it not true,” said he to the rest, “ that I am come to take possession of a lady who was long since given to me?” His playful urbanity and more graceful words were a long time remembered. The fortunate gentleman enjoyed so well his acquired wealth, and knew so well liovy to benefit his <Wu>a. won wl was so much esteemed, that he retained the name of the Good Demon, and it DCCaillO U j proverb. A Pattern Wife. There is a class of persons never happy, unless en gaged in tormenting themselves. The following di alogue from an English Journal, w ill not be without interest, perhaps—in this country : Mrs Bolinbroke. I wish I knew what was the mat ter with iue this morning. Why do you keep the paper all to yourself, my dear ? Mr B. Here it is for you, my dear : 1 have finish ed it. Mrs B. I humbly thank you for giving it to me when you have done with it—l hate stale news. Is there anything in the paper ? for 1 cannot be at the trouble of hunting it. Mr B. Yes, my dear ; there are the marriages of two of our friends. Mrs B. Who ? Who ? Mr If. Yotir friend widow Nettleby to her cousin Julm Nettleby. Mrs B. Mrs. Nettleby! Lord ! but why do you tell me. -Mr B. Because you asked me my dear. Mrs B. O, but it is a hundred times pleasanter to read the paragraph one’s self. One loses all the pleasure of the surprise by being told. Well, whose was the other marriage ? Mr B. O, my dear 1 will not tell you, I will leave yeu the pleasure of the surprise. Mrs B. But you see I cannot find it. llow pro voking you are, mv dear ! Do pray tell it to me. Mr B. Our friend, Mr. Granby. Mrs B. Mr Granby ! Dear! Why did not you make me guess ? 1 should have guessed him direct ly. But why do you call him our friend ? lam sure he is no friend of mine, nor never was. I took an aversion to him, as you may remember, the very first day I saw him. 1 am sure he is 110 friend of mine. Mr B. lam sorry for it, my dear ; but I hope you will go and see Mrs. Granby. Mrs B. Not I, indeed, my dear. Who was she ? Mr B. Miss Cooke. Mrs B. Cooke ! But there are so many Cookes; can’t you distinguish her any way ? lias she no Christian name ? Mr B. Emma, I think. Yes Emma. Mrs B. Emma Cooke! No; It cannot be my friend Emma; for lam sure she was cut out for an old maid. Mr B. This lady seemed to me to be cut out for a good wife. Mrs B. May be so—l am sure I’ll never go to see her. Pray, my dear, how camo you to see so much of her ? Mr B. I have seen very little of her, my dear. I only saw her two or three times before she was mar • 1 * necl. Mrs B. Then, my dear, how could you decide that she was cut out for a good wife ? I am sure you could not judge of her by seeing her only two or three times, and before she was married. Mr B. Indeed my love, that is a very just obser vation. Mrs B. I understand that compliment perfectly and thank you for it, my dear. 1 must own I can bear anytning better than irony. Mr B. Irony! my dear, I was perfectly in earnest. Mrs B. Yes, yes; in earnest —so I perceive—l may naturally he dull of apprehension, but my feelings are quick enough ; I comprehend you too well.— Yes; it is impossible to judge of a woman before marriage, or to guess w hat sort of wife slid will make I presume you speak from experience ; you have been disappointed yourself, and repent your choice. Mr B. My dear, what did 1 say that was like this? Upon my word I meant no such thing. I really was not thinking of you iu the least. Mrs B. No; you never think of me now. I can easily believe that you were not thinking of me in the least. Mr B. But I said that only to prove to you that I could not be thinking ill of you my dear. Mrs B. But I would rather that you thought ill of me, than that you did not think of me at all. Mr B. Well my dear, I will even think ill of you if that will please you. Mrs B. Do you laugh at me ? When it comes to this, lam wretched indeed. Never man laughed at the woman he loved. As long as you had the slightest remains of love for me, you could not make me an object of derision; ridicule and love are in incompatible ; absolutely incompatible. Well I have done my best, my very best, to make you hap py, but in vain. I see lam not cut out to be a good wife. Happy, happy Mrs Granby ! Mr B. Happy, I hope sincerely, that she will be with my friend ; but my happiness must depend on you, my love : so, for my sake, if not for your own be composed, and do not torment yourself with such fancies. Mr. B. I do wonder, whether this Mrs Granby is really that Miss Emma Cooke. I’ll go and see her directly. See her I must. Mr B. lam heartily glad of it, mo dear, for I am sure a visit to his wife will give my friend Granby real pleasure. Mrs B. I promise you, my dear, I do not go to give him pleasure or you either; but to satisfy my own — curiosity . “Angelina’s Fainted.” The talk was of Hottentots— ‘Don’t speak of ’em,’ cried Miss Angelina Duffy. ‘I am certain of it—if I were only to look at a Hottentot, I should faint—l must faint.’ ‘Slddledee,” said Miss Lillywhite ; and there was a hush —a pause in the conversation ; for when Miss Lillywhite ex claimed ‘Fiddledee,’ it behoved .thoughtless young ladies to look to themselves. Now, Miss Duffy had a great talent for fainting. Her haps the talent was originally a natural gift ; nevertheless, it could not be denied, that a frequent and ear nest cultivation of tho endowment had brought it to perfection. Miss Duffy, at one minute’s notice, could faint at any time, and upon any subject. She could faint at either extreme of the day—faint at breakfast, or faint at supper; could faint with equal beauty and truthfulness, whether the matter to be fainted upon were a black beetle—a bull, or a bullfinch. Miss Lillywhite was a spinster of seven-and-forty. ‘I am six—seven—eight-and-forty, next birth-day,’ Miss Lillywhite would blithely observe, as the year might be. And this gay veracity was the more pleasing in Miss Lillywhite, inasmuch as she might have passed for forty; nay, had she stickled ever so little for it, she might have got off with six-and-thir ty at most. And Miss Lillywhite was as jocund as she was handsome. It is said, there is no better preservative against the melancholly changes wrought by time than honey.— Miss Lillywhite had unconsciously acted upon the unknown recipe, and had preserved herself in the sweetness of disposi tion—in the honey of her goodness. She was a pattern old maid. Yet a pattern, we would hope, never to be followed, for it is such woman who make the real wives and mothers. But let us take up the stitch of our little story. ‘Fiddledee,’ said Miss Lillywhite. Miss Angelina looked •"<! gradually became very deeply wounded. What, under the new and painful circumstanos, could slie do ? Why she fell back upon the strength of her weakness ; she instantly made an ostenta ciour preparation to faint. Miss Lillywhite drew her chair beside Angelina. ‘My dear child,’ said Miss Lillywhite, ‘you must give up fainting —it’s gone out of fashion.’ ‘Fashion, Miss Lillywhite ! Do you think that feelings— ’ ‘Fiddledee,’ again repeated Miss Lillywhite. ‘ When I was eighteen, your age,’ said Miss Lillywhite, ‘and that, mydear is nearly thirty years ago, I used to faint too. I enjoyed fainting very much ; indeed, my dear, I question if ever you take greater pleasure in fainting than I did.’ ‘Pleasure!’ exclaimed Miss Angelina. Who could remain dumb under such an imputation ? ‘Oh, I know all about it—pleasure, my dear,’ said the re morseless Miss Lillywhite. ‘You see it gave me a little con sequence, it drew upon me general notice; it made me, as it were, the centre of a picture, and it was a pleasure to enjoy so much sympathy about one.’ Angelina was very much offended—deeply hurt. ‘We may faint once too often.’ repeated Miss Lillywhite, and she sighed ; and then hei*customary smile beamed about her. ‘Of this dreary truth lam a sad example.’ ‘You ! Miss Lillywhite!’ said Angelina. ‘Listen,’ said the old maid. ‘’Tis a short story ; but worth your hearing. When I was nineteen, I was about to be mar ried. About, did I say ? Why, the day was fixed ; I was in my bridal dress; at the altar; the ring, the wedding ring, at the very tip of my finger when— ’ ‘Mercy me !’ cried Angelina, Svliat happened ?’ ‘I fainted,’ said Miss Liilywhite, and she shook her head, and a wan smile played about her lips. ‘And you were not married, because you fainted ?’ said Angelina, much awakened to the subject. ‘As I have confessed, it was my weakness to faint on all occasions. I enjoyed the interest that, as I thought, fainting cast upon me. My lover often looked coldly—suspiciously ; but love conquered his doubts, and led him triumphantly be fore the parson. Well, the marriage service was begun, and— ’ ‘Do go on,’ cried Angelina. ‘And in a few minutes I should have been his wife, when I thought I mnst faint. It would seem very bold of me in such a situation not to faint. I, who had fainted on so many oc esasions not to swoon at the altar would have been a want of sentiment—of proper feeling, on so awful an occasion. With this thought, 1 felt myself fainting rapidly; and just as the bridegroom had touched my finger, I went off'; yes, my dear, swooned with all the honors.’ ‘Do go on,’ again cried Angelina. ‘As I swooned the ring slipped from the bridegroom’s fin gers, fell upon the stove, and was rolling, rolling, to drop through the aperture of the stove, that from below, admitted heat to the church, when though swooning, I somehow saw the danger, and, to stop the ring, put forth my foot— ’ ‘Well!’ exclaimed Angelina. ‘Too late, the ring rolled on, disappeared down the chimney of the stove, and then I fainted with the greatest fidelity.— Hartshorn and sal volatile came to my aid. I was restored, but where was the ring ? Ilalf-a-dozen other rings were proffered ; but no—it would be an evil omen—there would be no happiness, if I were uot wedded with my own ring.— Well, search was made—and time flew—and, we were late at church to begin with—and the ring was not found when the church clock struck twelve. ‘Well ?’ said Angelina. ‘Well,’ sighed Miss Lillywhite. ‘The clergyman, closing his book, said, ‘lt is past the canonical hour ; the parties cannot be married to-day; they must come again to-nior row.’ ‘Dreadful !’ exclaimed Angelina. ‘We returned home ; my lover upbraided-—I retorted ;we had a shocking quarrel, and—lie left the house to write me a farewell letter. In a week he was on his voyage to India ; in a twelve-month lie had married an India lady, as rich as an Idol, and I—after thirty years—am still Caroline Lilly white, spinster.’ It is very strange. From the time of the above narrative there were two words never again breathed beneath the roof tree of the Duffy’s. And these unuttered words were— “ Angelina’s fainted !” A STORV OF HUMAN NATURE. There once lived in an obscure town in Massachusetts, an old Indian woman. Somehow or other, the old woman had accumulated quite a desirable little property. Yet she was an Indian, and was treated with cool contempt by her neigh bors. She had no seat at the social circle, received no atten tion from those around her, occupied a back pew in the church, and down toward the grave she travelled, without friend or comforter. Old Nance had but one relative living, that she knew of, and he a wild, graceless son. lie was the terror of the vi’lage, and spent his time in anything but a respectable way. At last, the vagabond so worried the forbearance of his old moth er, that, in a hasty moment she resolved to disinherit him, and leave her money to the church. Accordingly she started for the house of one of the deacons, and made a'clean breast of her troubles, and acquainted him with her determination. The deacon grew from a cool to a very amiable mood as she proceeded, and, at last, became pro fuse in liis expressions of gratitude. The will, through the agency of the deacon, was drawn, but the old woman feeling a little compunction, had a eh use inserted which should make it void, provided the son would totally reform his habits. Secrecy was enjoined upon the deacon, who said nothing about it, except to two or three friends, who of course spread it all over the village in the ! space of one day. But the change wrought in the situation of old Nance was miraculous. “Such a good old woman !” The nice bits from the best tables began to journey, under neat napkins, to her humble abode. On a rainy Sabbath, a carriage took her up at her door, and carried her to church where she was kindly favored with a front pew, near the speaker, and near the stove. Her praise was in everybody’s mouth, and her tottering form commanded respect everywhere. But she thrived re markably under this treatment, and lived, and lived, and li ved. In the meantime, the son was looked upon with more than usual distrust, and the poor widow was deeply commis erated in his disgraceful course. Years passed away, and the kind attentions of friends were still continued to the widow, when, at last, old Nance slept the sleep that knows no waking. A large funeral, one of the largest tho little village had ever seen, attended her to her grave in the quiet church yard. There were tears shed above her bier, and benisons breathed upon her memory. The funeral was past. The Deacon, the Squire, and a number of the village notables were gathered in her dwelling and in one corner of the room sat the sad and taciturn son. “Sqnire,” said the Deacon, “I believe there is a will.” “Yes, there is a will.” “Will you have the goodness to read it.” The will was produced. All were silent. The will was read, in which all the widow’s property was bequeathed to the church. Many an eye sought the face of the prodigal son, but saw no change in his stolid features. When the reading was finished, the son arose and drawing a piece of paper from his pocket, inquired the date of “that ar will ? The date was stated, and handing the Squire his paper, the portionless asked liim to read it. Alas! it was a will one day younger than the other. The fond mother in her weakness had told the son what she liad done, and he managed to have a will drawn twenty-four hours after the previous one, in which he was the sole legatee. Tlie assembled wisdom and disinterestedness of the village went home thinking, and the son had the pleasant satisfaction of knowing that his mother’s last days were her best days. Reader, this is not fiction. It is but an instance of the weak ness of our common natures, which, in similar develope ments, come before us with humiliating frequency, alike in the lowest and highest walks of life.— Springfield Republican. (Drigiiml papers. THE VALLEY OF DIAMONDS. BY T. 11. CIIIVERS, M. D. XX. Yesterday evening I beheld the most magnifi cent sight that my eyes ever saw. It had just ceas ed raining, and the clouds, having cleared nearly all away from the west—only enough remaining to banner, with a golden glory, the sitting of the God of Day—were now eliariotted by the winds to the East, where a-Rainbow, God’s glorious Arch of Pro mise, was formed, reaching from below the circum ference of the earth to the very dome of Heaven. What excited my attention was, the extraordina ry brilliancy of the Prismatic hues. They were so distinct that they could be easily discerned with the naked eye. Within the principal Bow was not only a duplicate of it—the polychromatic hues be ing reversed —but afar off, epicyeling this cycle of Prismatic Glory, was another Bow also reversed— the two reverses imaging the original Bow. It is a remarkable fact—and one that ought not to be for gotten —that this outer Bow was formed in direct obedience to the law sos linear-perspective—that is, it appeared to be painted on the sky nearer the eye than the original Bow—just as any object would ap pear in a canopy, or dome of a great building, and not opposite the periphery of it. This was truly wonderful! for it semed subject to the same law which makes the Heavens appear like a canopy, as if binding like an etherial covering over the earth. But what \\m most remarkable of all was, the saf fron-gloi-ywliich suffused the whole cerulean-Orient within tile prismatic embrace of this celestial Token of the Noahtie Covenant. This gave a truly chro matic and congenial warmth to the cold field* of a zure which it interpenetrated. Iu all the days of my life I never saw any thing so sublimely beautiful except the transcendent glory of the Aurora Bore alis, seen once in the North. There was a more awful sublimity in the Northern Aureola, but not so much of real Divine Beauty. It looked, indeed, like what the Icelanders say of it— the Bridge of the. Gods. The Scandinavians l<*ok upon it as a Guardian Angel, whom they call lleindalleb. The great Preacher, in Eclesiasticus, describes Simon as shining as the ‘‘‘‘Morning Star, and as a Rainboic in the Temple of the Eternal.'’ In the Apocalypse, it is described as encircling the head of an Angel. The Sun set, pavilioned as he was with Sardine, Sapphire and Ruby-clouds, like a High Priest dy ing, w hile offering incense, in the Holy of Holies, wdiile the Glory of God tills the Tabernacle. XXI. Epectitus went forth one day and saw r a poor wo rnan weeping for the loss of her broken Pitcher.— The next day, he went forth again, and saw the same woman weeping for the loss of her son. Seeing the vast difference between the two—the infinite near ness of the one compared with the other, and the fast flowing tears which fell for the latter compared with the former —lie said, Her* vidi fragilem frangi ; hodie vidi mortalem niori.” XXII. A loose tongue, in a fool’s mouth, is like a big clapper in p cracked bell—he makes all noise, but no music. XXII. How infinitely superior was the mind of Paula Roma, who nearly grieved herself to death at the loss of every one of her children, to that of St. Hi erom, who reproved her for doing so. “How wretched is the man who never mourned.'’ XXIV. “Friend J ,of the “ Southern Literary Ga zette,” is mistaken in supposing that the w-ord boudoir signifies “topout,” and, therefore, means a “pouting room.” There is no such word in French for “pout.” XXV. The following exquisite little Poem, which I found traveling about through the world, without any fath er, I now take into the arms of my soul and kiss and caress; and having tired myself with fondling with it, I now preserve it in this Casket that it may sparkle in the eyes of those who love the pathetic light of the Evening Star of Sorrow: EPITAPH. Here, in a little cave, The prettiest nook of this most grassy vale, All amid fillies pale, That tarn Their heads into my little vault and mourn— Stranger, I have made ray grave. I am not all forgot, A small hoarse stream murmurs close by my pillow, And o’er me a green willow Doth weep, jf Still questioning the air, “Whydoth she sleep, The girl, ia this cold spot 1” Even the very winds Come to my cave and sigh; they often bring Rose leaves upon their wing, To strew O’er my earth; and leaves of violet blue— In sooth, leaves of all kinds. Fresh in my mossy bed: Tlie frequent pity of the rocks falls here, A sweet, cold, silent tear; I’ve heard, Sometimes, a wild and melancholy bird Warbles at my grave head. Read this small tablet o’er, That holds mine epitaph upon its check of pearl, “Here lies a simple girl, Who died Like a pale flower nipped in its sweet spring tide Ere it had bloomed —No more. XXVI. One of the greatest men now in England, is Thomas Carlyle. It is absolutely amusing to any man of sober judgment, who possesses a particle of Republican principle, to see the ineffectual flounder ings made by the Jotvflying ground-hawks of Black wood's Magazine to reach up to the envious altitude of this intellectual high-flying Eiigle. Every thing that these arrogant Tories do, tells how much they delight in petticoat government. Like pitiful, pet dogs, they peep out from under their Mistress’ Chair, and threaten him with a bigger Bull-Dog out in the Court-yard, as though lie were ever coining near enough to her marble to teach her, or her “ loyal sub jects,” any thing but the absolute utility of obeying the Mahometan doctrine of daily ablution, and the direct necessity of becoming regularly indoctrina ted into the baptismal principles of the HyJropa tliists. AVashing is all they want — whitewashing, if they can do no better —to cleanse out of their effem inate and pampered bodies the scrofula of eight hundred years of tyrannical sinning against Nature and Nature's God. This is the Baptism they want to purge out of their diseased souls—the incarnation of wickedness—that sarcomatous rottenness w hich makes them think nebulously and contaminate the very air in which they live with the plague with which they are leperously infected. Poor John Bull ! he now lies rolling, groaning and sweating great drops of serum-like, ichorous blood through his lihinoceros-hide, from the effects of the last stroke given him in his wrinkly forehead by the ponderous sledge-hammer of this great and glorious Norse Thor. AY hat will he do when he hits him again l This notable old Tory cannot see for the life of him—and it is well for old John Bull’s especial sal vation that he cannot —why England should be re presented by any noble young soul as once an imated the body of Robert Burns; and it is just be cause Carlyle recommends for her eternal sal ration —both in Time and in Eternity —the election of such souls, that he is threatened by these thinskin ned Usurpers with the scissors of their offended De lilah. They have no more desire to see tho Day dawn of a New Era, than they have to see the God annointed Heroic Intellects necessarily represent it. Freedom, to thdse bloated Tyrants, would be freedom thrown away. It would be like a Republic in France—a Tyranny. AATiat would they do, were they to be represented by such men as Robert Burns l Turn to guaging Beer-barrels, as Aefldid —the very thing that they deprecate so much. Talk to them about the Divine Ante-diluvian Tradi tions ! when they refuse to see the Poet-Messianic Truths, and to hear their sublime golden thunders, ten thousand times ten thousand more musical than the Siuai-intonations, with all their beautiful accom paniment of diamond-lightnings! Poor, pitiful De vils ! you may let loose from your iron leash, and set on with your Screech-owl cries, your big-mouthed Hell-dogs, but you will never hunt this Son of Day back into Chaos again. AYhat did Satan effect by his continual rebellion against God, but to be hurl ed the deeper down into Hell ? There is one thing Carlyle is mistaken in—mista ken because he w ishes to be, I presume—and that is, in America. He affectedly asks, “ What has she ever done that can be called truly great By do ing every thing that is not truly little. By becom ing herself the Erchomenos of the ardent expecta tions of the most God-like minds of all the most glorious Ages. By fulfilling, in her very beiny , the sublime Prophecies of all the clairavoyant seers of God. By interpreting, in her very existence , the ‘Dreams of those Ancient Daniels who saw her glory in the transports of their illumination, from the Ulai-banks of Ancient Times. This is what she has done. Is not this enough l Is not this doing more than every other Country ever did before ? It is here that the Spirit of Liberty, after a flight of six thousand years, finds rest for the soles of her bleed ing feet. It is here, on. this Mountain, that the Noahtic Raven, after tlysubsidence of the Deluge which has destroyed other worlds in rebellion against God, finds, for the Children of a New Generation, the Olive-leaf of Peace. [For the Georgia Citizen.] EDUCATION** [continued.] “I have heard it proposed that a portion of the Bible should be read every day by the master, as a means ol introducing children in t: but th ; s is a poor substitute for obliging chil dren to read it as a school-book ; for by this means we insen sibly engrave , as it were, its contents upon their minds: and it lias been nemarked that children instructed in this way La the scriptures, seldom forget any part of them. They have the same advantage over those persons, who liave only heard the scriptures read by a master, that a man who has worked with the tools of a mechanical employment for several years, has over the man who has only stood a few hours in a work shop, and seen the Bame business carried on by other peo ple. In this defence of the use of the Bible as a school-book, I beg you would not think that I suppose the Bible to contain the only revelation which God has made to man. I believo in an internal revelation, or a moral principle, wliieh God has implanted in the heart of every man, as the precursor of his dominion over the whole human race. llow much this internal revelation accords with the external, remains yet to be explored by philosophers. lam disposed to believe, that most of the doctrines of Christianity revealed in the Bible, might be discovered by a dose examination of all the powers and principles c 4 action in man : but who is equal to such an enquiry ? It certainly does not suit the natural indolence, or laborious employments of a great majority of mankind. The internal revelation of the gospel may be compared to the straight fine which is made, by the assistance of a compass, to a strange country, which few are able to discover, while the Bible resembles a public road to the same country, whidi is wide, plain, and easily found. “And a highway shall be there, and it shall be called the way of holiness. Tbs way faring men though fools,shall not err therein.’’ To the arguments I have mentioned m favor of the ucs of thebibleas a rchool-book, I shall add a few leflections. NO. 17.