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VOLUME 10. Jlifrilkuff. TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. I? this a Fast to keep The !ar<lcr leane, And cleane, From vat of veals and sheep ? Is it to quit the dish Os flesb, yet still To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to faste an houre, Or raft'd to go, Or show A downcast looke and sowre ? No: ‘tis a Fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. Is it to fast from strife, From old debate, t And hate: To circamcise your life. To show a heart grief-rent, To starve thy sin. Not bin; And that's to kep thy Lent. [Herrick's Noble Number*, 1048. LITTLE BY LITTLE ** Little i>r little,” a a acorn said. As tt slowly sink In Its mossy Ned ; ■ I iru iutproTiiK every day. Hid l<*n deep in th-* earth away.” Little Ly little each day it ifrew; Little hy little it i(tpe t the dew ; Imwnward u -oat out a thread like root; t'p In the air rpronz a liny *hrt. [lay alter day, and year aiu-r year. Little hy little the leaves appear; A rut the slender nranehe- spread far and wide, ‘fill tlx luiithty oak Is the forest's pride. Far down ia the depths of the dark i.ioe eea. An lnwct train work* ceawlesalv ; Oraia hy strain they are handing well. E h one aloi e in its little cell. Moment by moment, au<l day hy day. Sever stopping to rest or pi y. Kicks up mi r< < k* they are rnrfnc h ! irh, nil the top looks oat on the sunny say; The gentle wind and the htlmy air. Little by KUte bring verdure tnere ; ‘TUI the summer snnl* urns ga It smile On the hudi and flowers of the coral isle. “Little by Hole,” eai Ia thoog'itfn! hoy. •* Moment by moment, l’u welt employ, Lenrnttig a I title every day. And not spending all my time iu pay ; And still this rale la my mind shall dwell— • Whatever I do. I will do it well.’ Little by llttla I learn to know The treasured wtsd on of king ago ; And one of these days perhaps we'll se That the world will be the belter f r me.” And do you not think that this simple plan Made him a wise and useful man ? For the Georgia Citizen. The Sorrows of a Short-Sighted Man. BY AI N'T JKSSIK. I am short-sighted—very short-sight ed, and though many people m#y think it a small matter, my opinion is, that 1 ini entitled to the tenderest sympathies of the public. When I was a little fel low 1 was always getting into scrapes in consequence of my defective vision. At school I never knew when the teacher wis looking at me. and was as likely to throw paper balls, or pinch my neighbor when the schoolmaster’s eyes were on my face as any other way. When I was ten years old, I went to church one Sab bath, thinking my mother would not at tend. I j lined a particular crony, Tim Mathews, and we had a jolly time of it. ‘f the sermon entered one tar, it certain ly went directly out at the other, which. 1 tear, is sometimes the ease with older people than Tim and myself were. Now playing in church in N. England, where was raised, is considered a high misde meanor, and I returned home feeling guilty to a degree, and hoping my mo ther would not hear of it. Soon after my entrance into the house, my mother “ailed me to her side. “•lohn,” said she, “you have acted ver y badly in church to-day !—(Was the von&n omnipresent ? thought I.) —And w hi*t made your conduct still worse, •ben I looked at you and shook my be*d. you stared in my face with an air ’ defiance, and then whispered to Tim, ln, l both laughed.” Now to the first charge my conscience plead guilty —to the second, emphatically m>t guilty— and I replied to my mother ! did not see her, and did not know • V was at church. “ lohn. said my mother, wijh a look ! P*:n in her gentle face, “you have al **ys been a truthful boy ; don’t add to he sinfulness of your conduct in church, felling me a falsehood.’’ heart swelled with a childish *ense of injustice, and the pain 1 had giv- my mother. Again I earnestly re • ed : Mother, 1 did not see you—in >*d. lam telling you the truth.” looked me keenly in the eye, and directly a light came over her counte dtlee, as if she had made a discovery ; Tr.d leading me to the window she point ed to objects on the distant hills before Jr house, asking me questions in rela bon to them. Directly she laid her nan d on my head, saying, with a look of ended pity and gratification, “My rear son, I am convinced that you are Dear-sighted. While lam sorry that it ■’ ®°> 1 a **i truly glad to know you have uttered an untruth. You shall have a P*ir of spectacles.” ‘as with a light heari I received a r “ • lecture from my mother about my in church. 1 thought little of ““7 f ' teot ‘ ve eye-sight, in comparison • t ' a ®y mother's approbation and con r j ence in my veracity. be glasses were purchased, but I ted to wear them, and continued to bluuderg as before. f ‘^ n y years ago, it was fashionable f. e ladies of New England to wear ‘ nd of f “r tippet, called a “ boa”—so I suppose, from its resemblance a e r e snake—being Wig, and very snaky in appearance. They had gone out of fashion in my time among the elite, though some old ladies continued to wear them still. When I was about sixteen, I was walking, one cold day, djwn Broad Street, in the flourishing town of B , Vt. In crossing the street I saw ahead of me a shirt, chunky woman, with one t-nd of her boa trailing on ihe ground behind her. I hastened forward, ex claiming, “ Madam, you are losing your boa!” and precipitately rushing up to her, I raised the end of it, when the cow —for it was a cow’s tail I had mistaken f*r the boa—kicked me in the region of the stomach, regardless of my politenes.-, and I fell backwards on the frozen, snow covered ground. Judge Benton, a friend of my father’s, came to my assistance, and helped me up with the consoling remark, “ Served you right, John. You are too large a boy to be pulling a cow’s tail in the public street!” I scorned to enter into an explana tion, and returned home a sadder and a sorer boy. At eighteen I fell desperately in love. Mrs. Norton had a niece—Miss Grey— visiting her, from Boston, and she gave her a large party. I was present. Miss Grey came, saw, and conquered my sus ceptible heart. I had on my spectacles, and could see her in all her glory, iat once decided she was my destiny—the bright particular star of my firiniiient. How unspeakably stale, fl it and unprof itable seemed my whole previous life! llow had I existed heretofore, unsunned by the rays of her celestial eyes, un cheered by her seraphic smile ? I re ceived an introduction to my divinity—l danced with her—and I loved her ! Miss Grep was my senior, probably by three or four years ; but what signifies a few years’ difference in age with congenial souls—twin spirits ? I went home that night with blissful feelings. 1 determin ed to win her, or die in the effort. In fact, life would be a burden without her. True, I nearly broke my shins against a against a table in my room—having re moved my glasses—and gave my head a terrible thump against the corner of the mantelpiece, as I walked across the room, unable to be quiet when thinking | of the angel of my visions. But 1 heed ed not these trifles. What is physical pain, w hen the soul is bathed in bliss ] The next day I called on Miss Grey. 1 was ushered into the parlor. There she sat, on a sofa, a lovely angel, attired in blue, with a blue and black thing on her beautiful head—a head dress 1 suppose, but can’t swear to it, not being well posted in the names of the articles of la dies’ apparel. I bowed; she rose and smiled, and extending her little hand most graciously, she allowed me the ex quisite honor of shaking it; then she kindly made room for me on the sofa.— 1 spoke of the weather—she made angel ic replies. I mentioned the party —she had never enjoyed one as much. I quoted Byron—she quoted Moore. I I sofily alluded to the love of two con genial hearts—she blushed and sighed, and looked down at her very pretty feet, which peeped, of course accidentally, from the edge of her dress. 1 looked in the same direction, and seeing the cor ner of an embroidered pocket handker chief on the floor, by her feet. 1 gal lantly stooped to raise and return it to its fair owner. I seized it with a sudden jerk, w hen, oh horrors! I found I had hold of her under skirt! “ What are you doing, sir?” said she, angrily, and the vixen actually slapped me in the face! 1 rose to my feet, my countenance crimson with mortification and the blow', and replied, sullenly, “ 1 thought it was your pocket handkerchief; I am near sighted.” At which she actually laugh ed ; but I let her laugh alone, for, bid ding her a hasty adieu, I left, completely cured of my passion. 1 decided that I had been mistaken about her being the star of my destiny ; for if there was one thing on earth I cor dially detested, it was a virago, and that slap put an effectual extinguisher on my evanescent flame. I have never seen her since, but am happy to be able to say, she is yet Miss Grey, and that name, 1 trust, will le the one on her tomb stone! Not that I am vindictive, but I think any impartial, right-thinking person will admit that it is hard, because one hap pens to be near-sighted, that his first dream of love should be dispelled by a slap from the angel beloved ! , At table lam constantly mistaking butter for cheese, taking a piece of the former with my fiDgers, sr cutting a del icate morsel of the latter with my knife. Often have 1 mistaken a dish for some -1 thing else, and called lor something not on the table; or, grown wiser from ex -1 j perience. omitted to help myself to some thing 1 was particularly fond of, for fear 1 j it was something else. Upon one occa -1! sion l mortally offended a lady by in ’ I forming her she had flour <>n her face. i when it was in reality chalk, put there by her own fair hand, to beautify her ! complexion ! 1 have repeatedly ad vanced, with a gracious air and smiling face, in a crowd, to speak to a friend, and getting in close proximity found it to be a pei feet stranger, wearing a look of more surprise than pleasure at my fa miliar grin of welcome ! I have neg lected to return the bows and smiles of fair ladies, because, forsooth, I did not sec their tokens of recognition, thereby incurring their ill will. I have repeat edly been ca.ight in the act of putting on overcoats and hats that did not be long to me, and sometimes my excuse of short-sight failed to convince the own ers of my honesty ! I have divers times given myself a black eye. by running against lamp posts at night. I have thrown kisses at young ladies I never saw before, mistaking them for school girls of my acquaintance. 1 have neg lected to attend the summons across the room, at a party or concert, from ladies who beckoned me with fair hands, when I was apparently looking straight at them. In short. lam always in some scrape on account of my eyes, and half of my acquaintances will not take my misfortune as any excuse for my blun ders. They naturally ask why 1 don’t wear glasses all the time. I detest the thing-*, and expect to continue making mistakes to the end of the chapter. A week later. What care 1 if lam short-sighted ? I met Miss Grey last Monday, very unexpectedly. She is lovelier than ever! We talked of the past, She was grieved about that slap she gave me. I found she had loved me from the first, and she has consented to be my darling wife! She is a lovely woman. She has spirit, and I like that in a woman, and always did. These tame, milk-and-water girls I never could endure. We are to be married next month. Oh, I am a lucky fellow, if I cm near-sighted ! for Ellen Grey is a prize any man might be proud of win ning. After we are married I think I’ll try to wear my spectacles more. 1 really think spectacles add to a gentleman’s looks. They give a distingue and lit erary air to a man. Ellen says she adores glasses—the lovely angel ! For the Georgia Citizen. In Memoriam. Sadly in life's meridian day, Has my dear Chivkrs passed away— Borne down by toil and anxious care. He slumbers now in silence there. Sadly I mourn his hapless lot — I weep alave his resting spot. And wish I could have seen his face. And heard his words of truth and grace. But he has gone ; the tide of life Has borne him from earth's scenes of strife; And silent in his holy rest He sweetly sleeps, in Jesus blest. But soon the morning light shall break, And death's cold captives shall awake: Then harps with holiest praise shall ring. For saints who sleep shall wake and sing! J. G. The Sentence on the Saviour. A correspondent of the Notes and Que ries writes : “ Can any of your correspon dents inform me whether the enclosed ex tract. from the Kolnische Zeitung, is based on sound authority, and what that authority is? also, where and when was the Kolni.-che published ?’’ Correct Transcript of the Sentence of Death Pronounced Against Jesus Ciiiust. The following is a copy of the most memo rable judicial sentence which ha3 ever been pronounced in the annals of the world—that of death against our Saviour, with the re mark which the journal Le Droit has collect ed, and the knowledge of which must be interesting in the highest degree to every Chrisiian. Until now, lam not aware that it has ever been made public in the German papers. The sentence is, word for word, as follows: Sentence pronounced by Pontius Pilate, intendant of the province of Lower Galilee, that Jesus of Nazareth shall suffer death by the err ss. In the seventeenth year of the reign of the Emperor Tiberius, and on the 25th day of the month of March, in the most holy city of Jerusalem, during the pontificate of Annas and Caiphas. Pontius Pilate, intendant of the province of Lower Galilee, sitting in judgment in the presidential seat of the pra*tor, sentences Jesus of Nazareth to death on a cross, be tween two robler. a3 the numerous and notorious testimonies of the people prove — 1. Jesus is a misleader. 2. lie has excited the people to sedition. 3. He is an enemy to the laws. 4. lie calls himself the Son of God. 5. He calls himself, falsely, the King of Israel. 6. He went into the Temple, followed by a multitude of people, carrying palms in their hands. Orders the first centurion, Quirilius Corne lius, to bring him to the place of execution. Forbids all persons, rich or poor, to pre vent the execution of Jesus. The witnesses who have signed the exe cution of Jesus. 1. Daniel Robant, Pharisee. 2. John Zorobabel. 3. Raphael Robani. 4. Capet Jesus to be taken out of Jerusalem through the gate of Tournes. This sentence is engraved on a plate of brass in the Hebrew language, and on its sides are the following words : “ A similar plate has been sent to each tribe.” It was discovered in the year 1280, in the city of Aqnila. in the Kingdom of Naples, by a MACON, GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 22, 185. siroh mads for the discovery of R'man an tiquities. and remained there until it was found by th; commissaries of the arts in the French army of Italy. Up to the time of the campaign in Southern Italy, it was pre served in the sacristy of Carthusians, near Naples, where it <vaskept in a box of ebony. Since then the relict has been kept in the chapel of Caserta. The Carthusians obtained by their petitions that the plate might be kept by them, which was an acknowledg ment of the sacrafices which they had made for the French army. The French transla tion was made literally by members of the commission of arts. Denon had a facsimile of the plates engraved, which was bought by Lord Howard, on the sale of his cabinet, for 2,800 francs. There seems to bo no historical doubt as to the authenticity of this. The reasons of the sentence correspond ex actly with those of the Gospel. N Y. Journal of Commerce. Liberal Sentiments. George W. Curtis, Esq., delivered a lec ture last Wednesday evening before the Mercantile Library Association at Tremont Temple, on “ Democracy and Education.” It was a very fine effort, and listened to with marked attention by a large audience. The following are a few of the salient points made by the speaker, as reported in the Journal:— “ Taking Luther as the great representa tive of the Democratic sentiment, the lectu rer remarked that this sturdy old defender of individual opinion thought he was only planting a sapling to strengthen his fence, but it had grown to a tree which had up rooted the fence, and now its umbrageous tops were full of singing birds. He lit a candle to light the room, but the blaze had flamed and lighted up the world. ” Every race or class of men in history which had been denied a common humanity, had finally resented the denial and asserted their own rights. It was not true that al ways the voice of the people was the voice of God. Fifty dunces knew no more than one dunce. There was no magic in num bers, but a thousand men would belter pro tect their rights than one man. “ A theocracy is the ideal system. No one doubts that the least government is the best one; but how shall we find the best? The man who carries off my spoons will not receive immunity because he claims to be a minister, nor a governmeut to violate my contract because it is a government. “ The people might make wicked laws as well as the king makes them. They may enforce polygamy or any other wrong, but that did not make it right. And if there was any such a thing as a wicked law, it was no more binding because made by a million men than by one man. This, you say, is striking at the foundation of civil government Ought we not to bear and for bear ? Was not government a matter of compromise ? While it is a law w r e ought to conquer our prejudices. Let us at least be respectable while we live; just smother the baby and have done with it. Doing right was between my God a id me, and if I should obey your law and kill my child to night, I doubt if it would be a passport for me to heaven. “ Should the startling doctrine ever be an nounced in this country that our govern ment was only intended for certain kinds of men, then let every man look after his liber ty. It had inaugurated a despotism, and to morrow’ the hosts of despotism were march ing boldly into our doors. When we per manently disfranchise a man, we have struck a severe blow at Democracy. Every man had an equal right to have a voice in the government with you, or the President of Lite United States. The speaker eloquently vindicated the right of individual opinion, and showed how even the admirers of Luther to-day utterly tailed to defend that cardinal right; how the independent thinker was prayed against, how tracts were written at him, and how his soul was paralyzed with the slow, inces saut droppings of calumny. But despite all hindrance the race does and would sweep on to the tropics of its dreams. The lectu rer launched au arrow at the Pickwickian Christianity of the day, and said that all the devices of science and learning, unhallowed by virtue, would return to plague the world. True education developed the democratic principle. Nations were but bridges over which humanity passed in its giand march. If its timbers were rotten, it must fall. In fine, Liberty was but that will of God grad ually making the world His own. The Wisdom of Virtue. Archbishop Tillotson, when Dean of Can terbury, about the year 1760, was induced, (says his biographer,) “upon being informed that the Earl of Shrewsbury was being en gaged in conversation which might prove dangerous lo his virtue, as well as his char acter, to write to him the following letter which is a master-piece for the elegance and politeness, as well as the force and pathos of the remonstrance: ’ Lord: It was a great satisfaction to me to be anyways instrumental in the gain ing your lordship to our religion, which I am really persuaded to be the truth. But lam and always was more concerned that your lordship would continue a virtuous and good man than become a Protestant, being assur ed that the ignorance and errors of men’s understanding are easier forgiven by God than the faults of the wilL I remember that your lordship once told me that you would endeavor to justify your change by 3 con scientious regard to all other parts and ac tions of your life. I am sure you cannot more effectually condemn your own act than by being a worse man, after your profession to have embraced a better religion. I will certainly be one of the last to believe any thing oi your lordship that is not good ; but I always feared that I should be one of the first that should hear it The time that I last waited upon your lordship, I had heard something that afflicted me very sensibly ; but I hoped it was not true, and was there fore loth to trouble your lordship about it But having heard the same from those who, I believe, bear no ill-will to your lordship, I now think it my duty to acquaint you with it To speak plainly, I have been told that your lordship is of late fallen into a conver sation dangerous both to your reputation and virtue, two of the tenderest and dearest things in the world. I believe your lordship to have a great command and conduct of yourself; but lam very sensible of human frailty, and of the dangerous temptations to which youth is exposed in this dissolute age. Therefore 1 earnestly beseech your lordship to consider, besides the high provocation of Almighty God, and the hazard of your soul, whenever you engage in a tad course, what a blemish you will bring upon a fair and un spotted reputation ; what uneasiness and trouble you will create to yourself from the severe reflection of a guilty conscience; and how great a violence you will offer to your good principles, your nature, and your edu ! cation, and to a mind the best made lor vir tuous and worthy things. And do not imagine you can stop when you please. Experience shows us the con trary, and that nothing is more vain than or men to think they can set bounds for themselves in anything that is bad. I hope in God no temptation has yet prevailed on your lordship so far as to be guilty of any loose act. If it has, as you love your soul, let it not proceed to a habit. The retreat is yet pasy and open, but will every day be come more difficult and obstructed. God is so merciful, that upon your repentance and resolution of amendment, ho is not only ready to forgive us what is past, but to as sist ys hy his grace to do better for the fu ture. But I need not enforce these consid erations upon a mind so capable of and easy to receive good counsel. I shall only desire your lordship to think again and again, how groat a point of wisdom it is, in all of our actions, to consult the peace of our minds, and to have no quarrel with the constant and inseparable companion of our lives. If others displease us, we may quit their com pany ; but he that is displeased with himself is unavoidably unhappy, because he has no way of getting rid of himself. My Lord—for Gods sike and your own, think of being happy; and resolve by all means to save yourself from this untoward generation. Determine rather upon a speedy change in your youth in anything but what is lawful and honorable; and let me have the satisfaction to be assured from your lord ship, either that there has been no ground for this report, or that there shall be none for the future, which will be the welcomest news to me in the world. I have only to beg of your lordship to believe that I have not done this to satisfy the formality of my profession ; but that it proceeds lrom the truest affection and good will that one can possibly bear to another. I pray God every day for your lordship, with the same con stancy and fervor as for myself, and do most earnestly beg that this counsel may be ac ceptable and effectual. I am, etc. Presages ot Caesar s Death. We are told there were strong signs and presages of the death of Ciesar. Many re port that a certain soothsayer forewarned him of a great danger which threatened him on the Ide3 of March, and that when the day was come, as he was going to the senate house, he called to the sooth-sayer, and said laughing, “The Ides of March are come;” to which he answered softly, “ Yes, but they are not gone!” The evening before, be supped with Mar cus Lepidus, and signed, according to cus- j tom, a number of letters as lie sat at table. While he was thus employed, there arose a question, “ What kind of death was the best?” and Ciesar answering before them all cried out “A sudden one.” The same night as he was in bed with his wife, the doors and windows of his room flew open at once. Disturbed both with the noise and light, he observed, by moon shine, Calpurnia in a deep sleep, uttering broken words and inarticulate groans. She dreamed that she was weeping over him, as she held him murdered in her arms. Be that as it may, next morning she conjured Ciesar not to go out that day, if he could possibly avoid it, but to adjourn the senate and, if he paid no regard to her dreams, to have recourse to some other species of divi- I nation, or to sacrifices, for information as to 1 his fate. This gave him some suspicion and 1 alarm ; for he had never known, before, in Calpurnia, anything of the weakness or su perstition of her sex. though she was now so much affected. He therefore offered a number of sacri fices, and as the diviners found no auspicious tokens in them, he sent Antony to dismiss the senate. In the meantime, Decimus Bru tus, surnamed Albinus, came in. He was a person in whom CtC3ar placed such confi dence that lie had appointed him his second heir, yet he was er.gaged in the conspiracy with the other Brutus and Cassius. This man, fearing that if Ciesar adjourned the senate to another day the affair might be discovered, laughed at the diviners, and told Ca'sar he would be highly to blame, if, by such a slight he gave the senate occasion to complain against him. “ For they were met,” he said, “ at his summons, and came prepared with one voice to honor him with the title of king in the provinces, and to grant that he should wear the diadem both by land and by sea, every where out of Italy. But if any one go and tell them, now they have taken their places, they must go home again, and return when Calpurnia happens to have better dreams, what room will your enemies have to laugh out against you ? Or, who will hear your friends when they attempt to show that this is not an open servitude on the one hand, and tyranny on the other ? If you are absolutely persuaded that this is an unlucky day, it is certainly better to go yourself, and tell them you have strong reasons for putting off business till another time.” So saying, he took Ciesar by the hand and led him out. He went to the senate-house, where he was assassinated by the conspirators, pathizing, disinterested, spirit-endowed one Emma Uardinge, but to have been present at one of the triumphs of our blessed faith, in the heart of a sister woman. Our friend, Miss Munson, whose tearful eyes attested to her deep emotion, saw a spirit standing by a cell, and was impressed to speak to the prisoner within, a young wo man, about eighteen years of age. Miss M. asked her whether she had a sister in the spirit-world; she appeared surprised or alarmed, and withdrew to the other end of the cell; our friend persevered, asking her whether she had not a sister who was dead, and who was named Ellen. She acknowl edged that she had, and was then told that the spirit,was beside her, lovingly endeavor ing to guard her from future wrong. The poor young creature burst iuto tears, and said she had heard of Spiritualism; she look ed at Miss Munson’s sympathizing face, and said she trusted her. and told her the story of her sad life and errors, promising that when she would leave that place she never would again take that which did not belong to her; she would do better, for she believ ed that her sister was truly there; she beg begged to take the medium’s hand, and vowed amendment for the future. Miss Hardinge, too, went to the cells, gpeakmg those words of encouragement and kind ness, once heard from her lips, never to be forgotten. It is against the prison rules to speak to any inmate on Sunday, but the kind, philan thropic heart of William B. Mullen, the Su perintendent, forgave the violation. I, for one, left the prison, thanking God for sun shine, light and freedom, fervently hop ing the day would come when love should restrain all wrong. A provincial mayor in one of tho departments of France has come out with an epigram in the shape of a notification: “All beggars found in this district will be fined fifteen francs for the i use of the poor.” i From the Southern Literary Messenger. Revolutionary Letters. Stono 13 Mile House, t June 6, 1779. ) Dear Major : —I have not had the pleas ure of receiving one line from you, since you reached Congress. I suppose they must have been lost on the road, but had the pleasure of hearing from my friend Mr. Lovell that Congress had agreed that I should return I thank you for the friendly part you took iu bringing about an event so interesting to me. Matters are in this quarter iu the same disagreeable state as when you left us. We attempted the beginning of May to execute an original plan of crossing the Savannah near Augusta, and marching down the coun try with most of our force in expectation that the 1000 men we left under General Moultrie, with the force lie could collect and the strong passes of which he could possess himself, that if the enemy should attempt. Charleston, he would be able to stop their progress until we should come up, but we were very much disappointed in our expec tations, the militia left him in the hour of cfaDger and he was obliged to retreat to Charleston and throw himself within the lines. The enemy appeared before the town, summonded it on ye 13th, left it on ye 14th, and are dow on John Island and on the main at Stono ferry about six miles from us. 1 hope Major Rice will see you and give you the particulars—accept my warmest wishes for your happiness and the happiness of your family. And believe me to ba with tho wannest Affection, esteem and regard Your sincere friend and most obt servant, B. LINCOLN. Charleston, Nov. 1, 1779. My Dear Major: From various Causes I have been detained here until this time. My friends I suspect will think I have neg lected their kindness in procuring leave for me to return. 1 assure you, Sir, that no person feels himself more obliged to his friends than I do to mine, and none wishes to return to his family more than I do, but notwithstanding I have been detained here j such hath been the situation of affairs since you left us that there hath been no moment when I could leave the department with honor to myself, or when I could reconcile jt to my own mind. Count DEstang arrived off Savannah the beginning of September, sent on shore to ye Governor to announce his arrival and in form us of his disposition to co-operate with us against our common enemy; the 16th we formed a junction before Savannah—23d Ground was broke, the batteries were open ed on the 5 Oct. (33 cannon and 9 mortars.) They played on ye enemy’s works and the town, with some intervals until the Bth, without the wished for success. When the Count informed us of his arrivah he also in formed us that he would not remain on shore but eight days, that time being far elapsed lie could not wait to continue Ins approaches, which might have been done even to ye enemy’s lines, which reduced us to the necessity of raising the siege or at tempting the town by storm —the latter was thought advisable—toe attempt was made on the morning of the 9th. We failed in tlic attempt and retired with some loss— preparation was then made to raise the siege the stores, <fcc., were removed and the siege raised on the evening cf the 18tb, the 19th we re-crossed at Lubly’s ferry without op position ; after giving orders to remove the sick, stores and army to Sheldon, I left camp and came to town 21st. Thus ended a mat ter which failed from the necessity the Count was under to leave the coast, for could he have remained, I see nothing which could have prevented our success. I expect large reinforcements from the north and that matters will soon wear a better face than at present. My best regards to your dear family and believe me to be, Dear Sir, with every mark of respect and the greatest affection, your as-ured friend and obt., Maj. Meade.* B. LINCOLN. Greatness of Little Thing's. Scientific research iterates and reiterates one moral—the greatness of little things and the importance not only of the minute study of facts, but of the study of minute facts. One can imagine the contempt with which the “ practical men ” of the last cen tury listened to the news that a bitter con troveisy was raging between two Italian philosophers as to the reason why a frog’s leg twitches order certain circumstances : and yet therein lay the bud of the electric telegraph, and Elkinton’s plate, and numer ous other undei takings, in which the practi cal man of the present day, though as averse j as his aucestois to every investigation whose fruits are not immediately visible, is very happy to invest his money. The study of snow-balls, pie-crust and squeezed wax, has led the physical philosopher to comprehend two of the greatest natural phenomena—the cleavage of rocks and the structure of gla ciers. A century ago, the collecting of fos sils was regarded as an occupation of about the same dignity as the accumulation of old j china. Now. the coal-miner risks his capital upon the strength of the evidence they af ford. and the landed proprietors of some of our eastern counties, pocket many thousand pounds every year by selling the phosphatic fossils whose nature was first pointed out to them by a country clergyman, who happen ed to be a man of science. And not only does the gradual widening and perfecting of j our view of nature bring with it a respect for the influence of the study of minute facts 1 on the advancement of knowledge and the j bettering man’s estate, but it tells us that, apart from all consideration of man and his 1 wants, minute and seemingly insignifi- I cant agents have played a mighty part in | the history of our globe. OUR PRIZE POEM. A NODE TO SPRING. BY A EVnTGNINT FARMER. W ell, spring, youv come at last, hev you 1 The poit sez youv been sittin in Old Win ter’s Lap—now aint you ashamed of yourself? I suppose the old feller's bin a buesin you. I should think he had from your bretli A bein so cold—but that's the way them Old fellers hev a doin. Well, as I was savin, Youv come at last with your “bamy Bretli,” a blowin from the northwes— Westeonstant or Nebrasky, I Bpose, Grate Kuntries for bam l rekin ! Now youv cum wen Everybodi’s feed, an Korn, an things, Hev all been fed out! Now luk at Our Kritters, will ye? See our Katel! : On the lift, a hevin to be steddied by Thur tales when they gits up a mornings! Luk at our hossis wats all rejoiced To skeletons a weepin over a troft; A hull troft full of kobs! A hull troft full of bitter rekeleckshnns! Luk at them sliepe a lien in The fens korners a waiting for grass ! Yis! an thev bin a waitin sum uv Them for weex I—An if they wasnt Paid theyd a bin “ahakin their lox At you, and sed U dun it!” (That thur Iz from Hamlet, wun of SUakspur’s plays.) As another poit sez—"Gras ditfared maks The stumak ake.” So tho<e shepe will Never open thur ii onto gras agin—No! Now luk at them hogs, as has bin A follering them Katel wat hav bin Stuff; with ha ! Se cm will ye a crepin Round as if thevs tetched with Korns, Luk at thur eres will ye—bigur than Env cabbitch lefe See the shotes A lonin outer the fens to squele ! Luk at them mity eres a “hangin pendent” Onto sich little hogs! See a hundried Gud shoats rejuiced down to a even Korn basket ful! Y r es, that thurs ol yer doins, U Tardi loiterin Spring!—a hangin bak Az youv bin a doin. But now you’ve cum We fele yer eheerin presenz wen wo Git round unto the south side ov the barn ! We hear the hens a kaklin when they’ve Laid an egg! We see the horseradish A startin up a long side the garding Fens ! The wimmin is a lookin into The old tepot arter garding sede.s ! All these things make me think youv cum! Es so be Iv riled Y>, Spring, a showin up uv yer short cum mins, Jes set it down to bavin a poit’s lisens. [Tho I hain't taken wun out yet, l low to.] Old Hundred. The following tribute to that noble old re ligious melody, “Old Hundred,” is as true as it is eloquent and beautiful: If it be true that Luther composed that tune, and if the worship of mortals is carried on the wings of angels to Heaven, how often has been heard the declaration, “ Tlmv are singing ‘Old Hundred ’ now !” The solemn strains carries us back to the time of the Reformers—Luther and his devoted band. He, doubtless, was the first to strike the grand old chords in the public sanctuary of his own Germany. From his stentorian lungs it rolled, vibrio g, not through the vaulted cathedral roof, but along a grander arch—the etem 1 heavens. He wrought into each note bis own sublime faith, and stuinpel with that faith’s immortality. Hence it cannot die. Neither men nor angels will let it pass into oblivion. Can you find a tomb in the land where sealed lips lay, that have not sang that t”ne? If they were gray old men they have heard or sung “Old Hundred if they were babies they smiled as their mother rocked them to sleep, singing “Old Hundred.” Sinner and saint have joined with endless congregations where it ha--, with and without the pealing organ, souuded on the sacred air. The dear little children, looking with won dering eyes on this strange world, have lisp ed it. The sweet young girl, whose tomb stone told of sixteen summers—she whose pure, innocent face haunted you with its mild beauty—loved “Old Hundred,” and she sang it, closed her eyes, and seemed com muning with the angels, who were soon to claim it. He whose manhood was devoted to the service of God, and he who, with the white hand placed over his laboring breast, j loved ’ Old Hundredand though some- , times his lips only move way down iu his ‘ heart, so soon to cease its throbs, the holy melody was sounding. The dear white haired old father, with his tremulous voice, how he loved “Old Hundred.” Do you not see him now, sitting in the venerable arm chair, his hands crossed over the head of hi? ■ cane, his silvery locks floating off from his hollowed temples, and a tear stealing down his care-worn, furrowed cheeks, that thin, quivering, faltering sound, now bursting forth, now listening for in vain ? If you do not. we do; and from such lips, hallowed by four score years’ service in the Master's cause, “Old Hundred ” sound? indeed, a sa cred melody. You may fill your choirs with Sabbath prirna donnas, whose daring notes emulate the steeple, and cost about as much—but give us the spirit tones of the Lutheran Hymn, sung by old and young together. Martyrs have hallowed it; it has gone up from the band of the saints. The old churches, where generation after generatu n have worshipped, and where many scores of the dear dead have been carried and laid before the altar, where they gave themselves to God, seem to breathe of “Old Hundred” from vestibule to tower top: the air is haun ted with its spirit Think a moment of the assembled compa ny. who have at different times and in dif ferent places, joined in the familiar tune. Throng upon throng—the strong, the gentle, the brave, the beautiful, the rapt face?, all beaming with inspiration of the heavenly sounds. “Old Hundred 1” kiDg of the sacred band 1 of “sacred airs!” Never shall our ears grow weary of hearing, or our tongues of singing thee I And when we get to Heaven, who knows but what the first triumphal strain that welcomes us may be ‘-Old Hundred.” Artesian Water a Curative.— The Louis ville Journal of the 19ih says: The artesian well water still continues to work its wenderlul cures, and is daily receiving the highest encomiums frem the medical pro fession as the most effectual remedy in many cases. It is related that Dr. R. , of Boston, was • once invited by a friend to visit the theater aud see anew play. The friend proposed taking seats near the orchestra. “Oh, no, said the 1 Doctor, “I have a slight cold, and uoubt the i propriety of sitting near those wind mstru , mente.” NUMBER 4. WASHINGTON MEMORIALS. The following is a copy of a letter Washington addressed to Bishop White, respecting his contribution to aid poor families that had suffered during the rav ages of the yellow fever in Philadelphia: ( Privatt .) PmunEirHi A, 31st December, 1793. T>pnr Sir: It has been my intention ever since my return to the city, to con tribute my mite towards the relief of the most needy Inhabitants of it. The pres sure of public business hitherto has sus pended, but not altered my resolution. 1 am at a loss, however, for whose bene fit to apply the little 1 can give, into whose hands to place it:—whether for the use of the fatherless children & wid ows (made so by the late calamity), who may lind it difficult, whilst provision?, wood 6i other necessaries are so dear, to support themselves; —or to other and better purposes (if any), I know not; and therefore ha\e taken the liberty of asking your advice. I persuade myself justice will be done to my motives for giving you this trou ble. To obtain information, and to ren der the little l can afford without osten tation or mention of my name are the sole objects of these queries—with great and sincere esteem and regard, 1 am. l>iar Sir, Your most obed’t and affccto serv't, GO. WASHINGTON. The Right Rev’d Hoot'a White. The following was found among the papers of the late Gen. Wade Ilainp | ton: He\T> 4 jCABTKRS, BlCKl* CotJTTY, ) Aug. 21, 1777. / Sir: 1 have the honor to intioduce to you Count Pulaski, of Foland, who will visit Philadelphia to solicit of Congress a command in our army. I some timo ago had a letter from our mutual friend, Mr. Deane, speaking in terms equally favorable to the character and military abilities of this gentleman —thus doubly recommended to your no tice, you will be pleased, I am sure, to show him all courtesy, and promote his views to the extent of your power. With great respect and esteem, I have the honor to tie, Sir, Your most obed. serv't. GO. WASHINGTON. Geo roe Oltmer, Esq. The following is a copy of a letter written by Gen. Washington to Gen. Knox, on the occasion of the death of his (Gen. Knox’s) son. The original is in possession of the Bangor Mechanics 1 As sociation : Philadelphia, Sep. 8111, 1791. My dear Sir: I have heard of the j death of your promising sou with great concern ; and sincerely condole with you and Mrs. Knox on the melancholy occa sion. Parental feelings are too much alive in the moment these misfortunes happen to admit the consolations of reli gion or Philosophy, bat 1 am persuaded reason will call one or both of them to your aid, as soon as the keenness of your anguish is abated. He that giveth, you know, has a right to take away. His ways are wise—they are inscrutable and irresistible. I am ever your sincere & affectionate friend, GO. WASHINGTON, j Maj. Gen. Knox. ORIGINAL LETTER FROM COLONEL JAMESON TO GENERAL WASHINGTON. Wright's Tavern, Feb. 2, 1778. Sir: I received yours of yesterday, and shall execute your commands as soon as possible. I have not been able to see Gen. Lacy these several days. The militia on this and the Ridge Road have abandoned their posts since Saturday, and are cot yet replaced. 1 shall go in search of Gen. Lacy tomorrow, and fix on a day to do the business you have ordered. The mills on the Pennypaek and Frankford have furnished a great quantity of flour, which it has not been in my power to prevent with the men on this side of the river, unless J could be with them day and night, as they are a set of the greatest villains 1 ever heard of. Many of them, I believe, have re ceive I bribes to let the inhabitants pass, but no pio<f against any hut one Hood and one Reade, both of whom deserted last w eek upon my ordering the officers to collect all the men to this place. Oth ers have robbed people on the road, two of which I have tbund out, but have not as yet confined them, as there are not three of the men that I could, with auy degree of safety, trust my life with ; am therefore w liting for the relief I am ev ery day expecting before I do anything with ihem, as 1 am not certain but what many of them u’ould desert if they knew ! any inquiry making into their conduct. The mills on the YVissahickon 1 do not believe have furnished any quantity of flour to the city, as there are none of them that have their bolting cloths ex cept Vanderon’s, Mathar’s, and Mere dith, all of whom have promised not to sell any to the inhabitants of the town. Shall execute your orders as soon as i can find Gen 1 Lacy, if not countermand ed. Cap’n Howard took about 100 peo ple going to market la-t week, mostly women. There are about 10 tolerable horses, which I shall send to the quarter master-general. There is one lyson, a notorious villain, that I shall send as soon as I get him and the witnesses. I have not bejn able to write since the 20lh of last month, owing to my having received a wound in my lore-finger that day. I received a letter of the loth of last month from Count Pulaski, to re pair to the w r est side of the Schuylkill, and to take command of all the horse on the lines ou both sides the river, in con sequence of which 1 repaired to Cap'n Lee’s quarters to see what was to be done, and also to know what sum of money he might want for the expenses of his party, and intended waiting on your excellency, but hearing that you had sent an express to this side of the