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VOL. 2. Written for the Georgia Citizen. THE SILVER CLOUD, OR JUAN DE LEON’S BRIDE. .4 Tale of the early settlement *>f Florida. BY MISS C. W. BARBER. (concluded.) The voyage to her did not seem long. She lingered always by the side of her loved one, aud never tired of listening to his voice—never wearied of gazing with him into the deep dark waters that curled arouud the sides of the ship or tracing with him at night, tlie stars which glistened on their immeasurable thrones of blue. The colonists, at first, reverenced her as the wife of their Governor but as they grew more familiar with her from day to day, her innumer able graces won all hearts, and her influence among them became as the keen eyed Friar had well prophesied, ‘no light thing.’ But there was one who looked upon her as he would have regarded some celestial being, had it strayed to earth. This was Okeek, the In dian of whom Aleta had spoken in her conver sation about the fete. lie was a powerful warrior and chief in his native land, but when the pale faces came to his cabin, he gave them the pipe of peace, and allured by their wonderful tales of life in Spain, Be at hist decided to accompany the ship on its return. In Spain he lived nearly a year, but although he saw much to please him, his heart went back to the boundless forests and rude uncivilized hordes in his native land. He had embraced the first opportunity of return ing, and now he trod the deck of the ship, with a proud step, and gazed with eager eye, to wards the land whither he was bound. Soon after her embarkation, Madaline had by some courteous act, won the affections of this forest King! he watched with pleasure her slight form, as she glided about the ship, and in his poetical imagination be saw some resem blance between her and a beautiful cloud that was spreading its silver wings in the eastern hoavens. He always after that, called her ‘The Silver Cloud.’ This singularly beautiful appellation, was adopted by one and another of the colonists, until before she reached America, Madaline was known wholly on ship-board by it. Even the Governor, De Leon, as he watched her white robed form, or as he threw his arm around her waist, and drew her to him, mur mured fondly—‘my bride —the Silver Cloud !’ Nor was Madaline unmindful of the vow she had made De Guvnian. All the influence that she acquired, she consecrated to holy objects— even the untutored savage, listened with deep reverence to her mild voice, as she spoke of the Great Spirit, and unfolded to his mental vision, some of the glorious truths of the Christian faith. In return, the chieftain dwelt upon, and pic tured the exceeding beauty of the Western World whither they were journeying. He told her of its mighty rivers rolling their silver currents to the gulf—he spoke ot the peerless Magnolias lifting their snowy blossoms to wards the Sun—of the deep hued orange groves, and of the mocking bird that filled the Flori dian forests with its matchless mimicry. For hours Madaline would listen and wonder over his eloquence. ‘Where did he learn it ?’ she would ask herself: ‘a wonderful land that must be, where untutored savages speak in such strains as these.’ Sometimes she questioned him of the foun tain, of which De Leon had spoken to her—the fountain of immortal youth, Okeek shook his head. ‘I know of none such,’ he said ‘on earth.— Far, far beyond the blue heavens, and the glit tering stars —in that bright home where you say the Great Spirit gathers the souls of those he loves, it must bubble, I think, and throw out its waters sparkling and pure. There the red browed Indian, the dark Spaniard and the Silv er Cloud shall bathe in it. Seek it not my (laughter, seek it not on earth !’ It was towards the last of summer 1521, that the two ships bearing the Spanish colonists, anchored on the coast of Florida. The savages crowded the shore to look once more upon the pale faces, who had come to dwell among them. They admired the manly figure °f the Governor, and examined with curious eyes, over and over again, the ships—those great winged creatures that could ride the waters which they thought boundless, and could move like things of life. They f’ it sure that they came from the Great Spirit, and “hen they saw the bright form of Madaline, dressed ! o a snowy robe, and coming forward with unfaltering *teps to tread the shores of the new world—her cheek slightly flushed with excitement and her eye glistcn -1D n with emotiou they called her a heavenly visitant, ond bowed before her with acts of solemn worship. She sr.iiled upon these untutored children of the wilderness, find motioned to them to arise. She called to her side V’keek. and hade him to explain to them, that she was sot angelic—no not even a child of the Sun. They lis tened and were satisfied, but Okeek spoke of her as I the Stiver Cloud,’ and by this name only, she became known among them. As time passed on, her influence over them became s most unlimited. The colony flourished* beyond De I-ooa's most sanguine expectations, and the features of I e wilderness were fast assuming the expression of civilized life, k was near the beginning of the next August, that >ut broke from the Spanish settlement —a shout that ct'de even the inland forests reverberate. There had “ ’“P from Spain been descried upon the waters. It r ‘ ’Ught new colonists, and all welcomed its appearance ’~h joy. The Governor and Madaline, watched from ” its approach, and wondered what news and ‘~“ trs it would bring from home. Madaline’s eye moistened with painful emotion, as re membered that to her there probably was no ’ r, i of remembrance sent from her native land. Iler remained, for aught she knew, ignorant of the “‘■d she had chosen for a home. By Aleta she did not 1 (obe remembered, for in her heart she execrated memory. She was dwelling upon this painful topic ••en her eye fell upon a form, stepping upon shore ‘_n die thought was peculiar. It disappeared, and ? s bc knew her eyes must have deceived her—it not bc the person of Alonzo the Moor! one WUS l bfee months after this, when Madaline sat hi beneath the shadow of a graceful elm, o'.aii &t 0 ne3r ier dwel,in g- The waters es the “ cre beating with a ceaseless murmur upon the hea/ n ° ( f r k° m ber.and the moon rode through the j et s nS C3r and unc * ou d<?d. She felt a weight upon n ot night—she knew not why. She could tvj( an j Lven the blue sky looked ominous of notes of a solitary whipporwill, that Pr >ncJi fir r begS perdon in tbis instance, for distorting a the I ' eon ’* coion J’ was never prosperous, in not ottain an >’ th,n S H * e permanent • o Honda, until some time after this. sang above her head, she thought she discovered some thing like a warning voice. She listened uneasily, for the step of her husband, who was absent upon busi ness, and who stayed, she fancied far later than usual. At length she was aroused by T a quick firm tread at her elbow. She looked up half alarmed, but smiled when she saw it was Okeek, the chieftain. ‘The Silver Cloud gives you friendly greeting,’ she said, arising and hold ing out her hand : ‘have you seen the Governor to day V There was a shadow upon the brow of the chieftain —-a settled gloom such as Madaline had never seen there before, lie did not reply to her, but sank down upon the roots of the tree, and looked away towards the ocean. ‘I fear my friend is ill,’ said Madaline.’ ‘Can I do any thing for him V ‘ Okeek is not ill—Okeek needs no medicine-now.’ ‘But something ails him,’ said Madaline sinking down and taking his huge red hand between her soft palms- will he not tell the Silver Cloud his troub les V The large, black, eloquent eye of the Indian, now turned and rested full upon her face. ‘The Silver Cloud is pure,’ he said, ‘as a snow-flake— -beautiful as a star—fragile as a lily, and gentle as the spotted fawn. But there is a blood hound upon her track. Okeek seeks her to-night to whisper in her ear, beware! be ware !’ ‘To what do you allude?’ said Madaline eagerlv. ‘Has any ill befallen my husband. 1 pray you tell me instantly. It is only through him tbat I can be wound ed. He stiys later to-night than usual.’ ‘lt is for you that he shall be wounded,’ said Okeek solemnly—‘because he loved the Silver Cloud, and gathered her to his bosom, he and his people must be swept away like the leaves of the forest. Strange that so pure a thing, should distill poison from its bosom J’ ‘I do not understand you’ said Madaline, ‘and yet your metaphorical language distracts me. Speak to me plainly and quickly. For De Leon I would lay down my life. Tell me how he is to suffer for my sake.’ ‘Alonzo the Moor is upon your path. He is among the children of the Forest, instigating them to evil deeds, lie tells them that your husband is cheating them out of their lands, and he is urging them to burn your settlement, and murder your people. He is succeeding in his wicked designs. In vain I have raised my voice in counsel, in your behalf. My brethren are like the uncounted pebbles on the sea shore. They have raised the tamahawk of war and extermination, and I cannot influence them to lay it down. But the Silver Cloud must be saved. She shall not fall into the hands of the bloody Moor who seeks her person—per haps her life. My bark canoe is moored by a grape vine, to yonder cliff. Fly with me, or in two hours hence you will be in his hands.’ A faint, shrill scream broke from the lips of Mada line, and sbe fell back, nerveless as an infant. The brawny arm of the savage lifted her, for even then his quick ear detected the war whoop in the distance. With the speed of lightning, he bore her to the boat, and laying her in the bottom, he seized the oars, aud the tiny bark canoe shot like an arrow over the tide. IV hen Madaline opened her eyes, and realized where she was, she raised her face, and in piteous accents plead with Okeek to take her back, that she might search for her husband. The chieftain shook his head gloomily. ‘You would share his fate,’ he said. ‘ Let me share it,’ said Madaline impulsively, ‘Let me die in his arms—it is all I ask.’ The savage rowed on and made her no reply. She covered up her face, and in the agony of despair, prayed to die. But the griin King of Terrors would not come to her relief. All that she could do, was, to suffer on, in silence. Towards morning they reached a small Island. The chieftain paused, and lifting Madaline by the hand, as sisted her on shore. An Indian woman who was cultivating a small patch of maize near the coast, came forward, and invited them to her cabin. She spread before them her most savory meat, and urged them to eat, but neither tasted a mouthful. ‘ I will leave you here,’ said the chieftain, ‘and re turn to look for DeLeon. He is probably dead, as the Moor will seek his life first of all. But I will avenge his death—l will slay the Moor ere 1 return, and bring you the corpse of your husband.’ True to Ins word, the faithful chieftain again, under cover of night, sought the late settlement of the Span iards. It was now a heap of ashes. Mangled forms were scattered about, and scalps hung suspended from the branches of the trees. The massacree had been complete. Few had escaped to tell the fate of their colony. But the corpse of Leon was not to be found. Perhaps they had taken him captive, and were reserving him for torture. Stealthily the chieftain crept among the blackened trees, and smouldering ruins. Nothing escaped his keen vision. At length he decried a form in the moon light, with an uplifted hatchet in its hand. In the dim ness of the hour, he could not make out who it was. But just as the tomahawk was about to descend on its mission of death, an arrow, sent from Okeek's unerring bow quivered in the heart of the Moor. He fell back with a groan of mortal agony, and breathed with a deep curse his last. ‘ Lie there and rot!’ said the Indian as he kicked the yet quivering body from his pathway, and lifted the form of De Leon from the ground. The Governor exhibited no sign of life, but after a while the chieftain thought he discovered the faint trem bling of a pulse in his wrist. lie resorted to every means in his power, to restore him to animation, and finally succeeded. De Leon spoke, and murmured the name of his wife. He evidently thought she was bending over him. The Indian did not pause long, with his precious burden, he bore the Governor as he had borne Mada line to his boat, and sought again the Island, and the cabin shore where he had left the ‘Silver Cloud. Madaline’s joy when she found out that her husband lived, cannot be painted by the dull point of this pen. In her gratitude she kneeled at the feet of Okeek, and kissed again and again his hands. Over De Leon she hung like one enchanted. Alas that love like hers could not save its idol ! The poisoned arrow had ran kled too deeply. Death claimed him for his own.* They hullowed a narrow grave, and laid the Gov ernor to liis last deep repose, and before many moons had waxed aud waned, the Silver Cloud faded too from earth. The Indian chieftain watched her dying pil low, and wept when her cheek took the marble hue of death. He hurried her beside her husband, and over their graves may still be seen two rude monuments of stones: “ Peace to the ashes of the dead ! Departed spirits there may tread— Let flowers spring up with sweet perfume To deck a loug remembered hero’s tomb.” *De I-eon died upon the Island of Cuba, from the effect of a wound, received in an affray with the Indians. ‘Pappy, the corn’s up.’ ( The corn up! Why I only planted it yester day.’ ‘I know that—but the hogs got in last night, and guv it a lift you hadn't counted on.’ Scene closes with a grand tableaux—in the midst of which Fappy seizes a poker and rush es out. “ 3ntopenifent in nil tilings —Unifral in nntjjing” MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 28, 1851. LRiVA HAKRIi. A TALE FOUNDED ON FACTS WHICH HAVE OCCURRED IN GEORGIA. Written for the Georgia Citizen, by a Lady of Macon. “Have you any letters,” said Mrs. Weston, to her husband, as he entered their handsomely furnish ed room, on his return from the Post Office, one eve ning. i have one’ said he, ‘which brings the sad intelli gence of my only sister's death. ‘Emma will have no home now,’ continued he,‘unless we give her one, with us.’ ‘‘How old is Emma’said Mrs. Weston. ‘About twelve years old,’ was the answer. ‘I shall not object to taking charge of her so much,at that age, as I should if she were younger. It would be too great a task for me in my present state of health, to undertake the care of a younger child,’ said Mrs. Weston. ‘Emma will give you no trouble,-for-I know her to be one of the best children ; I think I shall leavi 1 for M. to-morrow night. It will be necessary for me to go there, and settle my sister's business ; and try, if possible, to save enough to educate Emma.’ ‘lf her mother has not left enough to educate her, I do not know how she will be educat ed. for it as much as we can do now, to keep Rosa and Edward at school,’ said Mrs. Weston. ‘I know,’ an swered her husband,‘that my expenses are as much as 1 can meet, but Emma must have a home with us, for she has no other near relation to take her. I have not much hope of saving any thing, for her, os her father was so much in debt when he died, that it took all ex cept the house and lot to pay his debts ; and this was only saved through the kindness of a friend of Mr. Harris’ who advanced SSOO, for my sister, and offered to wait with her five years for it. She hoped in that time to be able to pay tbe amount. But it has been only six months, and I am suro that there lias been none paid on it. I shall sell the house aud lot, and pay this debt immediately.’ ‘I should thiuk the house and lot and the furniture, would sell, for more than enough to pay that debt,’ said Mrs. Weston. ‘The furniture will not sell for much, as my sister disposed of every thing at her husband's death, that she could possibly spare.— She only kept what was absolutely necessary for her and Emma, which I know was very little, as she intend ed to dismiss her servant, and do her own work. Poor woman, I expect she has had a hard time. Although it requires but little to support them, I know that little has been hardly earned ; and I doubt not but her death was brought on earlier by too close confinement toiler needle. Freproach myself that I have not given her more attention, since her husband's death. But I have been so liarrassed with own affairs, that I have had time to think of no one, except my own family.’ The last sentence was said to satisfy a guilty conscience. But that exacting monitor was not so easily silenced. Her whispers though soft, caused a tumult of unpleasant reflections to arise in the mind of Mr. Weston. Mem ory carried him back to the days of his childhood, when he, and his sister had played happily together; and the dying injunction of his mother to love and care for that sister, haunted him, while he vainly tried to find rest ‘in the arms of Morpheus.’ He endeavored to justify himself for his neglect by thinking of the unsu al press of business. But then the thoughts of his pleasure trip, during the past summer marred the solace he n(ight have derived from this excuse. lie well that few were the thoughts given to that poor widowed sister, while he and his family for months mingled with the gay crowd that assembled at one of our most fashionable w atering places. Tbe death of his sister was enough to cause deep sorrow; but, to feel that he had cruelly neglected her, added a keener pang to his intense grief. As these reflections ‘forced their way without the will,’ Mr. Weston became miserable indeed. He arose in the morning sad enough, and spent the day in making preparations, for his departure that night. And now while he is gone we will give the reader a description of his wife and two children. M rs. w. was one of the many, who consider ‘keep ing up appearances,’ or, in other words ‘living fashion ably’ to be of greater importance than all things else. She was confined to the house most of the time, by imaginary imbecility. Her visitors were generally re ceived in her elegantly furnished sitting room; while she reclined gracetully upon a crimson couch, by which stood a small table, decorated with a boquette of flow ers, the last new Novel, the ‘Ladies Book,’ and last but not least essential, a beautiful bottle filled with Cologne which was the only perfume that she could have near her, and this was almost necessary to her existence. She was careful to have her last wrapper made, exactly like the ‘lnvalid’s Wrapper’ in the last Lady's Book. She was naturally a pretty woman, and displayed good taste in dressing; always carefully selecting that which was most becoming. The many compi ments paid her, by her visitors were received in the most interesting man ner imaginable. She was frequently told by some of her dear friends , if they made so beautiful an invalid, as she did, they would not mind being sick part of tbe time. It will not be necssary, for us to name other pe culiarities of her disposition, as the sequel of this story will show them forth plain enough. Wo will leave her to speculate upon the manner in which she can dis pose of Emma, so that she will not become an addi tionable expense to the family. Rosa the eldest child, was n pretty sprightly interesting girl of thirteen. She could dance beautifully, and perform remarkably well on the piano. She already evinced a taste for reading which encouraged, by her mother. She was a sensible child, but her taste and judgment were seriously per verted ; and her ideas of respectability accorded pre cisely with those of her mother. Edward, was a fine looking intelligent little fellow, ten years old, with whom we shall have very little to do, in our story. Mr. Weston's feelings were not at all relieved, by the history that Emma gave of the last six months of her mother's life. Mrs. Harris had been unable to work, two or three months previous to her death. Besides the Doctor's bill, other debts had been necessarily con tracted. By the time these debts were settled, and the advanced money paid, there were only SIOO left, for Emma's education. Soon after the business was settled, Mr. Weston was with his family, and Emma established in her new home. Emma Harris had not a face that many would call beautiful at first sight, but she had one, that all would call intelligent. Her large grey eye, with their luxurient silken lashes, were not her least attractions. They had naturally a pen sive expression, but could show forth the loveliest emo tions of happiness, whenever a glance of sunshine flit ted across her path. She had no golden ringlets to boast of, like her cousin Rosa. Her hair was dark and did not curl, but tbe intellectual brow, which it encircled was a compensation for the absence of ring lets, of any hue. She had a mild disposition, and possess ed good judgment, for one so young. Emma felt very lonvly now, and, that she was a dependant in her un cle’s house, but determined to make herself useful, and try to win the love of the family. A few days after Mr. Weston’s return, he requested his wife to have suitable clothing purchased, and made up for Emma, to wear to school as he wished her to commence her studies as soon as possible, He determined to atone for the neglect of his sister, by kindness to her child. He had no other thought, but to take Emma into his house, and have her treated just as Rosa was. He was one of those men who left every thing appertain ing to the house, subject to his w ife’s control. She made bills and he paid them, without asking any ques tions. lie had great confidence in her skill in man agement, and thought she was an excellent wife, for she always kept his home neat and oc mfortable, and bad hie meals ready when he came fr them. She did not require much of lps attention, and when he chose to remain out until twelve o’clock, at night she never questioned him as to the cause of his absence. He treated her and her affairs, just as she treated him, with perfect indifference. Ilis heaven below was his counting house and the billiard room. We have said that every thing about the house was under Mrs. W’s. control. Os course Emma was placed there too, and in doing this and paying her bills, Mr. Weston did all that be was capable of doing. If he had ever known what sympathy and kindness were, the fountain from which these feelings flowed had long since frozen over, and his wife came with no thawing smile to melt the ire, and cause those refreshing streams to gusli forth, which en liven and give to fyome, a tint of heaven. Mr. and Mrs. Weston’s case, was not a rare one! For human hap piness, there are too many siuular- ones. In due time Emma commenced going to sftiool and all things went on very agreeably. Mfls. Wljsoon found tbat Emma could make herself very often thought that it was wise in Mrs. Harris, to have taught her to sew, so neatly. One Saturday afternoon, about six months after Em ma came to her uncle’s, Mrs. Weston told her and Rosa to get their clothes and mend them. ‘Why cannot Liz zy do my mending, this afternoon, as usual V said Rosa. ‘I do not see the use in having a seamstress if you have to sew for yourself.’ ‘Rosa my dear,’ said her mother, ‘the cook is sick, and Lizzy has to take her place to day ; besides, it is time that you had learned to sew for yourself; Emma does all her own mending, and much of her plain sewing also.’ Rosa reluctantly obeyed her mother, but complained all the time, that ‘she did not know how to mend any tiling.’ ‘Let me see what you have done Rosa,’ said her mother, after an hour had elapsed. ‘O dear, that will never do, you will have to take it out.’ ‘I have not time to do it, for I ought to be ready to go to dancing school now, and I cannot bear to be late.’ ‘I do not wish you to neglect your dancing, nor do I feel well enough to sew this af ternoon. Ask Emma to do it for you.’ ‘I will do it aunt,’ said Emma, ‘I will soon finish all I have to do for myself.’ She did it, and did it cheerfully ; and be fore two years had passed it was her regular business to do the mending on Saturday for all the family. Emma did not go to dancing school, because Mrs, W. thought they could not afford it, and it would cause Em ma to have a desire to attend dancing parties, as she grew older, which would be, an extra expense. Mr. W. never thought any thing about it; but poor Emma did, for she desired to go very much, yet never expressed such a wish, for she felt that she had no right, to any thing more than her uneie and aunt offered her. At the end of two years, Mrs. Weston concluded that her health was bad enough to require someone to stay with her all the time, and consequently proposed, that Emma should remain at home one quarter. This was the excuse offered for leaving school; but the true reason was, that Emma’s school bill was SSO per an num, and Mrs. Weston did not wish her to be educated from Mr. Weston’s income. She promised to make Emma continue her studies, and recite to her. Besides, she would have her to read aloud, an hour or two, each day. This course Mrs. Weston doubted not, would be of more advantage to Emma than going to school. For a few weeks, Emma continued her studies, but they were gradually diseonti >und so many lit:le things io <Io lor her no t per sue her studies, but she still rea (jArlortion of each day to her. The latter employ.rJEUfjileased Emma very much. Mr. Weston’s expenses ,v-<sr*i now in creasing, without any addition to his income. lie told liis wife that it would be impossible for him to let Rosa continue taking music lessons, lie had to pay more now. than formerly for Edward’s schooling, and their dry goods account was larger than it had ever been before. ‘Of course it is,’ said Mrs. Weston, ‘as the children grow older, they need better clothes and more of them. I do not wish Rosa to stop her music lessons, and would rather economize in some other way.’ ‘Emma lias already remained at home two quarters, instead of one, said Mr. \\ eston. ‘I always wished her to take music lessons, and am sorry that she did not commence when we first took her.’ ‘I do not know how you would have paid for it’ was his wife’s reply, for you have been barely able to meet your expenses ; as to her going to school again, I think she will learn as much, that will be useful to her, at home, as she would at school.’ Mr. Weston said no more, because, lie felt that he had done as much as he was able to do. Mrs. Weston proposed hiring outlier seamstress, and let Rosa go on with her music. As usual, Mr. Weston said, ‘do as you please.’ Lizzy was hired out, Rosa’s best dresses were made by the dress-maker. Emma’s were only cut for her, and, under Mrs. Weston's directions, she was soon able to make her own very well, and do most of the plain sewing for the family. By this time her work had increased so rnueh that it was almost impos sible for her to find any time to read. But Emma nev er complained, for she had no willing ear to listen to the story of her wrongs. Nearly two years passed in this way, and Rosa was to graduate in a few months. Her mother had already determined to give her a par ty at that time, as the parents of the other graduates intended doing as much fur their daughters. Mrs. W. economized in every way possible, to enable her daugh ter to make her ‘debut’ into society, in a genteel man ner. As Rosa and Emma grew older, the distance in creased between them gradually, almost insensibly. They were now seldom seen together ; as for poor Emma, she never saw any visitors, but those who were in vited into her aunt’s sitting room. Most of them treated her politely, even kindly, for they well knew the position she occupied in her uncle’s family. It had been a topic of conversation more than once, and had called forth many severe remarks from Mrs. Wes ton's acquaintances. Emma was frequently invited to call on the visitors. Mrs. Weston would generally an swer for her, and say, that ‘Emma, loved home so much, that she seldom went out except on Sunday.’ This was always said in an affectionute tone, with an equally affectionate glance towards Emma. Mrs. Weston like many others thought it easy enough, to deceive the world by soft speeches and pleasant smiles. But she was most egregiously mistaken when sho thought peo ple believed that Emma was led, by her own inclination, to shun society and confine herself at home so con stantly. She would have felt deeply mortified, had she knowD the opinion of her friends on this subject. As the time for Rosa to graduate drew near, Emma had an extra task to perform in assisting to prepare her for the suc cession of parties that were to be given. Mrs. Wes ton’s health was much improved by the excitement of the occasion ; She was even well enough to attend some of the parties. Emma had invitations to all of them, in accordance with a resolution passed, at meeting of Mrs. Weston’s acquaintances, a few weeks previous to the time. She only attended two however. Mrs. Weston’s apology for her non-appearance, was that Emma was not fond of gaiety, she would rather spend her evening at home, reading the works of Shakspear, or Byron. Had Emma been asked the true reason for her absence, she would not have given such a poet io one, as did her aunt, for the real cause was that Emma (true to her woman’s nature) did not like to ap pear so often, in so short a time, in the same dress. She knew her aunt did not want to give her another, or she would have offered it, and Emma was too proud to ask for one, therefore, she remained at home. Rosa’s party was the last one given. She had made many acquaintances among the gentlemen, and was grati fied to see, that she received a reasonable share of atten tion. Mrs, Weston w r as an excellent manager in such affairs, and took great pains in bringing her daughter into notice. She was an agreeable companion, for eith er old or young persons, and seldom failed in securing the good opinion of a stranger, when she desired. A 1 the acquaintances that Emma made, were by chance, or by the design of two ladies. Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Brown, who were two of Mrs. Weston’s most inti mate friends, and knew exactly how Emma was treat ed by her aunt. They made an agreement, to thwart Mrs. Weston's plans regarding her, which they believ ed were to keep her unmarried as long as possible. The motives of these ladies might not have been en tirely pure, in desiring to see Emma receive attention. It would have required a well balanced mind, to have known the circumstances, and befriended Emma, and yet, to have derived no gratification from the chagrin, they believed Emma’s marrying would cause Mrs. Weston. The evening of Rosa's party was a pleasant one, and the rooms were well filled with the elite of the place. All seemed to be happy. Flirtations were carried on, in all pa-ts ofth? room, by beaux and belles. A mer rier crowd we do not remember to have seen. When the evening wa~< about half spent, Miss Rosa and Dr. Bass promenaded in front of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Brown. The former lady remarked to the other ‘how beautiful Rosa looks to night,’ ‘yes’ said Mrs. Brown, ‘that lace dress is very becoming to her. I think it the handsomest one I have seen her wear, yet, and it does provoke me to see her wear such a variety of beautiful dresses, and then to see Emma Harris, in that same plain swiss muslin, that she wore to your party and mine also. I suppose however Mrs. Weston would have us believe that Emma dresses plain, for the same reason that she stays at home so much, because she prefers it.’ Just then, Charles Sandford a worthy, fine looking young man, came up and enquired of Mrs. Smith, the name of the young lady who had just left the Piano, with a white rose in her hair. ‘That is Emma Harris. ’ said Mrs. Smith, ‘she is one of my beauties, and one of my favorites also. I thought you bad been intro duced to her.’ ‘I have never seen her before.’ remark ed he ‘but should like to be introduced for I have been watching her, for the last half hour, and I do not know but that lam half in love with her now.’ ‘Then, allow me the pleasure of introducing you, immediately,’ ‘most willingly,’ said Sandford, offering Mrs. Smith his arm, who was delighted in having an opportunity of making two of her favorites acquainted with each other. Charles Sandford was a young lawyer, in easy cir cumstances, who possessed fine talents, and a good moral character. He was fond of ladies’ sooiety, and visited them, generally, but no one, particularly. He paid Emma much attention that evening, and was more pleased after lie had conversed with her, than before. He waited on her to supper, promenaded with her, and on bidding her good night promised to call the next day at eleven o'clock. Emma was equally pleased with Charles, and dreamed that night of reeeving a Bo quet of wila flowers from him. Rosa was the belle of the evening, much to the gratification of her mother, who retired with but oue regret, which was that Sand ford was not so much pleased with Rosa, as lie seemed to be with Emma. Sandford true to his promise call ed the next day Rosa was in the parlor with two or three gentlemen when he came. She had not noticed his marked attention to her cousin, therefore she thought his visit was intended for her. Sho never supposed such a thing as Emma having a call from such a fash ionable gentleman as Charles Sandford. She had so long considered Emma an inferior in the family, that she thought every one else did the same. Sandford waited some time for Emma ; finally thinking that the servant had not told her, he asked for her, and enquir ed of Rosa, if Emma was at home ? ‘I believe she is, though I have not seen her to-day,’ said Rosa. ‘She eat breakfast with father and mother, and I did not get mine until ten o’clock. I was so much fatigued that I could not ‘rise with the lark’ this morning.’ She went into her mother’s room, and told her that Emma was wanted in the parlor. ‘Mr. Sandford asked for her 1 suppose because I had other company, send her in, she will assist me in entertaining them.’ Emma was called, and her Aunt was not at all pleased to see that, she evinced no surprise, when told that Sandford had asked for her. Emma blushed when she entered the parlor, and Sandford thought her more beautiful than ever. Even Rosa admitted that she looked unusually well. The events of the previous evening were merrily discussed by the company ; all seemed satisfied with the share of happiness they had received, from the entertainment. Rosa felt that she was the attraction which had brought the gentlemen out, and was still of the opinion, that Emma would not have been called for, had she not been so much engaged with the first visitors. Mrs. Weston did not agree with Rosa, yet she said nothing to the contrary. But intended to keep Emma out of the parlor as much as possible, for the future. She thought Sandford a desirable match for Rosa, and yet hoped that she would secure him. Sandford thought much of Emma for the next ten days, and determined to offer her his hand, unless a longer acquaintance, should change his opinion. lie wished to know her well, before asking her to become his wife, and there fore, for the present, did not wish his real motives sus pected, in visiting at Mr. Weston's. Accordingly, when he called again, he enquired for both the young ladies. Mrs. Weston sent for Rosa, but said nothing to Emma. Sandford thought it was best not to ask Rosa for her cousin this time. Emma felt a little surprised and dis appointed too, when she heard her aunt and cousin speaking of Sandford's long call in the morning. Sand ford felt disappointed too, in not seeing Emma, he thought probably the servant had made a mistake, or did not understand him to have asked for both the ladies. Ilia few days he called again, and told the servant that he wished to see both the young ladies. The servant delivered the message, but Mrs. Weston sent Rosa with out Emma again, thinking that if he wanted to see Emma particularly he would ask Rosa for her, and this Sandford would have done, had he not been in love with her, but he ivas afraid of betraying hia feelings by asking Rosa, for her cousin, and therefore was doomed to disappointment, a second time. lie did not know how to account for Emma not making her appearance, lie began to think that she had probably suspected his feelings towards her, and did not wish to encourage his visits. This reflection was any other than a pleasant one to Sandford. lie determined however, to make one effort more in a few days. During this time he was invited to spend an eve ning at Mrs. Smith's. Rosa and Emma were to be there also. Sandford thought he could learn from Emma's manner on that occasion, if his company were disa greeable to her. Mrs. Smith had invited Rosa and Emma herself, and made them promise to come, as no other ladies were invited she would be disappointed if they did not. Mrs. Weston knew that Sandford was to be there, and tried to devise some means, by which Emma might be prevented from going. When the evening arrived, Mrs. Weston was not as well as usual, she felt quite nervous, and made frequent use of her Cologne bottle. She expressed fears that she would be very sick that night, but neither Rosa or Emma of fered to remain at home. Rosa knew that her mother did not expect her to remain, and Emma was very anx ious to go to Mrs. Smith’s that night, above all others, and did not offer to stay with her aunt, although, she felt sure, that she desired her to do so. They both went, and left Mrs. Weston to her own reflections dur ing the evening. She thought seriously, of losing Em ma; the more she reflected on it, the less inclined was she to give her up. She had great respect for public opinion, but the determined to keep Emma single, as long as possible. She was a calculating woman, and I uot easily thwarted in her designs. She determined , on her course with Emma for the future. In the morning of the day, that Sandford was to take tea at Mrs. Smith's, he received a letter from his moth er, in which requested him to come home immediately, as business of much importance demanded his atten tion. He made arrangements to leave the next day. lie went to Mrs. Smith’s but scarcely knew how to act towards Emma. lie thought she had not treated him very politely. Emma’s feelings were pretty much the same towards him, consequently each felt embarrassed before the other, which caused coolness in manner, which both attributed to a wrong cause. Sandford chatted merrily enough, when addressing himself to Miss Smith or Rosa, but he could not manage to get in conversation, with Emma. Theie were three young ladies, and just as many gentlemen present, ar.d when Rosa started home, she proposed that all should take a walk, as it was such a beautiful monlight night, all agreed to this, and Mr. Ashly and Mr. Benson, appeared to take Rosa and Miss Smith. Sandford and Emma were left to go to gether, each feeling, that probably the other preferred th# company of someone else. Moonlight has a pecu liar effect upon lovers. If a successful one, an exqui site happiness, a soothing calmness of mind is realized, that can be truly appreciated in few’ other conditions. And who that has mourned over unrequited love, does not know, that from moonlight, there comes a conso lation, which causes a pleasing melancholy to steal gently over us that almost makes us lmppy, in the very midst of disappointment. Neither Sandford nor Emma was insensible to the influenoe of the ‘Pale Queen’ of night, for they had not proceeded far, before they eon Verscdwith more Ireidom,than they had done during the evening. Sandford felt a little encouraged before they reached Mrs. Weston's. He determined to persevere a little longer. Just before lie parted with Emma, he told her that busiucss made it neecssary for him to be absent a month, but on his return, lie would take plea sure in visiting her, if it would be agreeable. ‘I shall be happy to see you’ said Einma more pleasauily, than she really intended to have done. They parted compara tively happy. When Mrs. Weston learned that Sand ford accompanied Emma home, she felt deeply morti fied, lest the cause of Emma’s non-appearance in the parlor, would be found out. She suffered some anxie ty for several days, hut as Emma’s manner was un changed towards her, and the servant was not called upon for an explanation, she persuaded herself that all was right. Rosa still received much attention from both ladies and gentleman, she was invited to ride, to attend concerts, and visit, by many, while Emma was neglected by all, except Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Brown and those ladies were the only two that Einma visited. TO BE CONCLUDED. Original Letter of Br. Franklin. Philadelphia, March 1, 1755. Sir— l am but just returned from a long jour ney, near six months absence and And your Fav. of Sept. 29, by which 1 have agreeable Advice tbat you expect to be able to remit me some thing in Smith’s Affairs very soon. As to the Thickness of AY ire necessary or suf ficient to conduct a large Quantity of Lightning, concerning which you desire jnv Sentiments, you will find something on that Dead in Pages 124 and 125 of the enclos'd Pamphlet, which please to accept. And I may add, that in my late Journey 1 saw an instance of a very great Quantity of Lightning conducted by a \Vire no bigger than a common knitting Needle. It was at Newbury in New England, where the Spire of the Church Steeple being 70 feet in height}) above the Belfry was split all to pieces and thrown about the Street in Fragment; from the Bell down to the Clock, plac’d in the Steeple 20 foot below the Bell, there was the small Wire above mentioned which communicated the Mo tion of the Clock to the Hammer striking the Hour on the Bell. As far as the wire extended, no Part of the Steeple was hurt by tbe Light ning, nor below the Clock as far as the Pendu lum Rod reached ; but from the End of the Rod, downwards, the Lightning rent the Steeple sur prisingly. The Pendulum Rod was about the thickness of a small tobacco Pipe Stem, and conducted the whole without damage to its own substance, except that the End where the Lightning was all accumulated, it appeared mel ted as much as made a small drop. But the Clock wire was blown all to smoke, and smutted the Church wall which it passed in a broad black Track, and also the Ceiling under which it was carried horizontally. No more of it was left than an luch and half next the Tail of the Hammer, and as much joining to the Clock. A'et it is observable that though it was so small as not to be sufficient to conduct the Quantity with Safety to its own Substance, yet it did con duct so as to secure all that Part of the Build ing. Excuse this Scrawl which I have not time to copy fair. I am, with much Respect, Sir, Your very humble Servant, B. FRANKLIN. P. S.—l have just been reading a similar in stance taken from the Journal des Scavans, for 1075, page 113—viz: “En 1077 le tonnerre ecrasa le docker de l’Abbage and Sains Medard de Soissons ; la fondre se porta a une grande Dis tance le long des fils d’arsclial qui communi quoient a l’horloge; die fondit ces cordes me talligues sans faire d’autres desordres dans tout le trajet.” This interesting and most welcome contribu tion was brought to light by the London Cor respondent of the Boston Post. In communi cating it to that journal, he says:—“l have the highest pleasure in forwarding to you the fol lowing copy of a letter written by Dr. Franklin, as you will observe, ninety six years ago. It is copied verbatim et literatim , spelling, punctua tion, capitals and all-.-and as near a sac simile as my writing could make it—just as itstands in the original. I have reason to suppose it has never before been published.’’ For the Georgia Citizen. Root vs Calomel. Mr. Editor :—l notice in your last issue, a po etic effusion from a Louisiana Mineral Doctor, headed, “Humbug,” wherein the writer discov ery, to a true diagnosis, many symptoms of a form of disease known in nosology, as “caput sufflatus’’ or swelled head. The perusal of his balderdash forcibly reminded me of an old man I once heard of:—“Madam,” said the old man, “ have you any water in the house you could give a poor old man, or a gulp of beer, I would drink cider but had rather have rum” —so long was he in coming to the point. And as the scholastikos said by knowing the vegetable by its countenance, I think I can discover from his writing that he is the identical M. D. (Mercury Doctor,) who a few years ago, filled all the La. newspapers with accounts of his wonderful “I>yspeptic Cordial” which he said cured him self of the Rheumatism, his wife of the sick-, headache, his daughter of the fever and ague, and his mother of a bad cough, besides mend ing the cellar stairs and putting the baby to sleep. And now forsooth, after feeing every 1 printer for inserting his forged certificates of remarkable cures of so many diseases that show themselves “on the human hide,” he is down upon them like a load of bricks, because other Panaceas, Pills or Balsams, made and prepared and labelled with “notgenuine without they cure,” have found entrance along side his Dys peptic Cordeal. But to Lis couplet. “They cannot doubt a single word of what tb* papers say, They never dreaui that primers will write anything for pay I ©nly apply the pasquinade. Care colonne che fate qua ? Non sapiauio in yerita. And hand him over to you, when per haps he may find it “anything but civil” to ride a printer’s devil; though he be Chinese or Tartar. I propose giving him as a Roland for his Oliver the origin of Quacke ry alias liumbuggery, with a few results of his “dirty Mineral” and perhaps he can readilv ac count for the “spirit of the age.” Bartholomew Parr, M. D. in bis valuable work,says, the appel lation of Quack arose from Quacksalbar, the German name for Quicksilver, and ou page 584 Pereira’s Materia Medica, the followingetfbctsof the same identical “dirty Mineral”—‘‘sal ivation, palsy, stammering, vertigo, apoplexy and ultimately death, ulceration of the mouth, destruction of the teeth and jaws, destruction of the blood, general inflammation, emaciation morbus mercurialis, fever, inflammation of the stomach and bowels, leprosy, ulceration of the mouth aud throat, throat distemper, eruptions of various kinds, diarrhoeas, dysentery, inflam mation of the eves, face and peritoneum, chronic liver complaint, jaundice, hypochond riasis, palsy, rheumatism, neuralgia, trembling, wasting of the body, erysipelas, cancer , gan grene, mortification and death, with many oth er fatal diseases produced by Mercury.” And now I pity bis discernment if lie can’t perceive the reason why we find Swain, Peters, Evans, Wistar, Little Cos. “stepping boldly on the stage,” when we find work enough for all their “Fixins,” labelled “purely vegetable” to kill the effects of one article of their “dirt)- Mineral” or perhaps he would have Prof. Chapman's reason who says it requires seven years study to become a Doctor, and that even then he lias to “kill twenty patients to get into practice,” and then “500” mere if he ever becomes “very eminent,” and who would do all this when he could put up a “Dyspeptic Cordial.” And again Prof. Harrison, says, “ Quackery, walks in footsteps, marked with blood” (and who lets blood but a Mineral Doctor,) and if I have not yet fixed Quackery where it belongs, I hand him over to Profs. Gallup and Eberle, who say that giving opium in its various forms and disguises is Quackery in its worst forms, and I am sure ho will not call them Root or Steam Doctors.— And to this that the “ most horrid unwarranta ble murderous quackery” (Chapman) has been for three centuries the most fashionable prac tice, and the result will be that fools will be in fashion, “though they die for it,” unless they heed the injunction.— “Let all your drugs he made from root* or vegetable* good, Discar4 *ll dirty minerals, they are poison to the blood.” But for fear your correspondent may think me a prose-y writer, I will little of his own coin, merely cautioning him that it is from a Steam Doctor and would advise him to look closely to the safety valve next time, or it may let much a steam into his face, as somer what to endanger his optics. But to the CALOMEL. Old calomel the people hate, And soon they will decide his fate; With aches and pains he fills their bones, And causes many doleful mourns. His victims writhe beneath his power, And fondly court the dying hour, To free them from the iron grasp Os poison fatal as the asp. With indigestion—awful load, They drag along a dreary road— With stiffened limbs and rotten teeth, With foul and pestilential breath. With minds imbecile as a child— With mania running almost wild—■ With ulcers foul as those of Job, They wear the leper’s scaly robe. The inquisition's pains they feel, Without Samaria’s Son to heal ; They never get the oil and wine Unmixed with baneful anodyne. Their nervous systems, racked with pain, Are on old Molock’s altar lain ; The bloody lancet there is plied And tufa/ forces staud aside. If any fears still do remain That patient may revive again, And on the famed lobelia call, And use a little steam withal. The Doctors then the people bore— Their bowels with compassion more--* They say “Dear neighbors do ce wise, For your relief we’ll soon devise. The Steamers ! they are nought hut quacks, An ign'rant set of stupid jacks— On their delusion you should frown. And then tee soon could put them down. On law-legs tee liavealwa)-s stood, And by that means have gained our food ; Lobelia’s power has spoiled our legs, And now we stand on rotten pegs. Our system too is on the wane, And can’t in triumph rise again, Unless the statute is revived M hereby we long securely lived. Our legislators you must pray To grant us hopes of lengthen’d day, ro make a law that we can ride — Then won't we look genteel * (aside.) BOTANICU3. People who lack money, are supposed to lack merit,while they are sometimes questioned even as to their morality.—As Tom Hood for cibly express it—people of affluence know no difference between those who are naught and those who are naughty. Dobbs once boarded with a woman “so stin gy of her sugar,” that when she stewed a quart of goosoberries, they seemed sharpened to a pint. “The End Justifies the Means.” This is w hat a bean pole of a girl said, when she tied on a forty pound bustle. ‘Doctor, do you think a thin shoe is bad for consumption?’ ‘Not at all, my love—it is what it lives on. The Doctor rather had her that lime. Country cousins are a good deal like fits of the gout—the oftener they visit you, the longer they stay. To get rid of either you must resojt to thin diet. NO. 13.