About The Athenian. (Athens, Ga.) 1827-1832 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 11, 1831)
POST RT. From Ibe Sew York Mirror. ONE SIGH TO THE HOPE THAT HATH PERISHED. Orio “ig\» to th« hope that both perii-htil, Out* t*ar lo tho wreck of tho past ; Onr look upon all I have cherish rd, One lingering look—Min the Iasi! And nu'v from remembrance I banish The hopea that my heart hath prov'd vain, Ah ! vanish, dear memories, vanish I Return not to thrill me again. Rot an the fond ivy cling* closest To that which is withered and dead, And in its green beauty repose* On the ruin whose glory hath fled; Thus to hot es nod to joy* that have faded, More fondly doth memory cling, And o'er the fair prospects long shaded, Its freshness and vividnc«* fling.^ The cloud that each omment is brightening With the flash that so soon fades a wav, 1< me darkness in heaven when the lightning Hath ceased on its surface to play; Thus tke heart, when some bright dream each minute Springs up with too darxting a light, Hath the gloom of the tempest within it, And is shrouded the soonest in night. •TIS HOME UTIERF/ER THE HEART IS. 'Tis home where'er the heart is, Where'er it- loved one dwells, In cities or in cottages, Throng'd haunts or mo«sy del!. The Heart*! a rover ever; And thus on wave avd wild, The maiden with her lover walks, The mother with her child. *Tis bright where’er the heart is, I»s fairy spell* can bring Fresh fountains to the wilderness, And to the desert—spring. There are green isles in each ocean, O'er which affection glides; And a haven on each shore, When Love's the star that guides. 'Tis free where'er the heart is. Nor chain*, nor dungeons dim, May check the mind’s aspirings, The spirit’s pealing hymn! The heart gives life its beauty, Its glory and its power,— *Ti* sunlight to its rippling stream, And soft dew toils flower. icisesLLAiir. THE BACHELOR’S DREAM. It is a uonrv thought Tor the hiimnn heart to brood over, that, in Iho wide universe of life, tliero is no olhtr heart to quicken with our own—no smile lo welcome our coming—no eve to brighten with onr joy or weep with our affliction. There is no thought which fulls no heavily and darkly on the human spirit. It is as if a leaden blind hud been laid upon it— never to ho lifted—never to be warmed from its frozen rnmmiininn. Yet, there is much in a Bachelor's life which is pleasant—much of renl mid unadulterated happiness. The romance of the married pas ties rapidly nway never to return. The enres and duties of domestic life break in upon the honlitiful dream, and the sundered links of imagination nro novor ngain united. Not so with the Bachelor. Romnnco is to him us the breath of life itself; nnd ns ago comes on, liu gathers Imck to himself the day dreams of his imyliond; nnd. if less vivid than the long past reality, they nr® more sweetly beautiful, ns the moonlight hues of memory lingor upon them. “ Viniiinshnvc hovered o'er his sleep, Light, liiiry forms have bent strove lam; Anri eye. smiled on hnn, like the deep Expressive ones of those that love him. Wilil, brilliant eyes, through raven hair Clustering upon I lie bosom's snow ; And thin, while fingers, like cool air, Have passed along his fevered brow!” I had a friend of this description—a Bache lor of 40, a kind, free hearted fellow, who fre quently amused mo with his allusions to the events of earlier years. IVenried with the loneliness and silence of his existence, he found a certain relief in the treasured memo ries of the past. Sorrow and joy were per haps equally mingled with these remembran ces, like the shadow and sunshine of an April landscape, yet both were treasured up, loved and mused over. “ I had a dream Inst night,”—said he, us I entered his apartment one cold morning in winter—“ an ugly dream—ugh!—my blood chills to think of it!”—his tooth chattered ns be spoke, although there was n glowing fire in the grate; and ho had a thick wrapper thrown over his shoulders. “ Sit down,” con tinued ho,” nnd 1 wilt tell yon my dream, if 1 can get through with it without freezing us both into icy statues." “ Go on.” said I, seat ing myself comfortably at the fire—“ I appre hend no danger from the recital of your dream.” “ Well—last evening I was all alone—’(was a hitter cold evening too—and I. ns usual— when the present is not particularly agreeable, amused myself bv thinking over the past. You cannot imagine what a world of memory pas sed before me I But ns the mind's images thickened they grew fainter—the dint light of the lamp grew dimmer before mo—the howl ing of the north wind died away in my ear— and I fell asleep in my arnt-ehair. “ For a lime my visions were broken nnd vacuo—yet they bore somewhat of the impress of ray waking ones—hulf formed, half-seen faces, once familiar, started around me—nnd dim and hurried perceptions of familiar scene ry passed before mo like the changes of a pheatasmagora. Suddenly the the scene was changed. I seemed wandering over a vast plain of ice—anon, struggling in the rift of • Swiss Avalanche, or riding on the steep pinnacle of an ire herg. or standing in a swift Current of cold water with the raw wind blow ing and the ico stiffening oround my body, and then tho dimness nnd incoherence passed away, and n new order of visions came before me. I was standing in a familiar looking dwell ing. at lenst its proportions seemed so—hut it was entirely composed of ice—cold, shining, itninelling ice. The trees which stood wiili- out, I knew them by their gnarled limbs and stooping bodies ns familiar to my youthful days—were also of ice, limbs and foliage, and trunk of tho same. I was treading upon an icy floor—the ceiling—the doors ntid the w in dows and household furniture were ice—noth ing but clear glittering ice. I stood in the wintry pnrlnr, shaking with cold, when n figure slowly approached mo. I knew it in an instant. It was tho mother of mv first love—the Caroline of whom I have told you so often. There were the same figure, proportion, dress, &c.—tho same pair of huge spectacles on the face, which charac terized her thirty years ago. She came for ward and Imwcd, without relnxing a muscle of her countenance, nnd pointed to a sofa of ire behind me.—Hardly had I sealed myself, when the door again opened and Caroline her self entered, and advanced sloivly and without any sign or motion towards mo, nnd held out her hand in a sort of tnochaniral welcome. I rose and clasped it in mv own. Heavens ! — it was cold—cold ns a winter tomb-stone— and as the icy fingers fastened about my own I shuddered ns if a spectre Imd welcomed me lo the world of shadows. She was ice like every thing around her. The Cottage, the old lady,nnd my long loved Caroline passed away, nnd I found myself in a beautiful mansion in n far off land. There ton, the spell of winter rested like death upon every thing around me. The pillars—the splendid galleries, nnd magnificent apartments nnd the scrvnnts, nnd the attendants were nil ice in the winter of desolation. Yet. I recog nized the scene of my deepest attachment— the dwelling of her, whose benutifol image has never ceased to haunt me from the moment of our first meeting. And I saw her—the mag nilicent girl !—and she threw her arms around mv neck, nnd kissed me, it was like the kiss of n marble statue—the twining of the arms of the dead around the neek of the living, a eold and icy communion. And then, I seem ed myself to take the nature of all around me and I became as icy all save my henrt, which still bent beneath its unconscious body. And wn snt down together, two icy stntues, mock ing one another with the look of warm nnd kindly affection. And she would lay her cold hand in mv own, and bend her head with its rich hut unmoving mass of ringlets towards me; and her eye beamed constantly with a smile like that with which she had alwnys wel comed me,—ond vet I knew that it was nn awful mocking; nnd that the wnrinlh nnd the passion of love and life were not thore ! 1 nwoke—My lamp was like a small spark, it had burned so low,—Iho fire had gone out: and tho moonlight as it streamed through the unshuttered windows revealed the biack nnd cold bars of tho gtntc before mo; tho doors were ajar, and a current of nir bitter with frost was sweeping through the room. For a time indned, I almost imagined my dream a thing of reality, for I was actually stupitied with cold, nnd have not yet half recovered from it.” My friend ns ho spoke drew his Innk closer around him, with a sort of invol untary shudder. Now,” continued he, “ I have determin ed to live alone no longer, I will marry, let tho consequences be ns they may. Rather than suffer, ngain, whnt I did Inst night, nnd nil for the want of a companion, 1 would murry the veriest termagant in Christendom.” Ho kept Ins word. He is now n married mnn; nnd whnt is more nnd better, a happy one. He has a wife who loves him and child ren who bless him. and I have never since his marriage, heurd him complain of frozen dreams. The Public.—And what is the public 1 What is that great leviathan which is greater than kings, and wiser than philosophers, and more just than judges 1 Which is arbiter of all controversies, to which is the last appeal of tho injured—which looks calmly, delibe rately. nnd sagaciously on all the agitations and conflicts of Immunity—to which the migh- Host men look up for support—and to which the most learned look for npplauso and the most sagacious lor countenance—from which the conqueror receives Ins laurels and the po ol his buys—w hich finds in every individual u most humble und obedient survant—which pronounces the irreversible docroo by which the poet lives or tho rhymester dies—which, bv iis fiat, gives immortality lo tho artist or consigns tho dauber to contempt—which con sists of myriads of contradictory elements, nnd yet holds ono even tenor of its wav I What is this wondrous tiling culled— the pub- lie t Is it fish, flesh, or fowl ? Where is the pluce of its abode ? Where its awful presence chamber I *’ ‘ tial. A combination of impatient beings, it is of all animals the most patient; the long-eared qnadriipod that drugs sand nnd cabbages so perseveringly along the mnny-sounding streets of the metropolis, benrs not the heartless cud- gellings of its unfeeling driver with o more ex emplary patience limit does the public bear the rudenesses and insults with which it is hourly nnd daily assailed. The pub) .■ is never ashamed of itself. It never blushes for any thing it has said or done. It is nevor pul out of countenance. It makes no npnlogies, nnd cares for none that are made to it. It receives the incense of flattery, hut heeds it not; and if mighty indignntion vent itself upon the public, the public takes not of it notice enough to laugh at it. Surely the public is nn ass ! for hath it not long cars, wherewith it galhereth in rumors and swallow- eth intelligence ? Hath it not a lough hide that will bear much cudgelling? Hath it not a strong hack Ihnt will support heavy hardens? Hath it not a grave aspect that smilelh not nt a joke, and that is innpprehensive of the wis dom of a hoax ? Is it not exceedingly perti nacious in going its own gait, and keeping its own pace? Is it not despised by those who Srtve it, and contemned by those it toilcth for? Furthermore, is not the public a most use ful animal ? What could wc all do without it? Hath it not much moral power, restraining of fences which ropes cannot reach, and exerci sing an undefined and undnfinnble influence upon every individual ? Who is there that is totally insensible lo public applause, or abso lutely reckless of public censure ? What multi tudes are there who owe one hnlf of their nega tive virtue to the wholesomo fear in which they stand of the public I And is not the public the promoter of much positive good ? Is it not the prompter of patriotism, tho patron of the nrtist, the muso of inspiration to tho poet, the tongue of eloquence to the senator, and the pen of wisdom to the philosopher? It is a puzzle to say what tho public is, but we guess it may be defined lo be v hat the wiso men of Gotham defined a lobster<3, viz- It is some thing.—London Mai. hanhoe.—The following remarks from Sir Walter Scott’s preface to the new edition of Ivnnhoe, haw, if possible, even more beauty than truth : “ The chief character of the fair Jewess (Rebecca) found so much favor in the eyes of some fair readers, that the writer was censur ed, because, when arranging the fates of the characters of the drnmQ, he had not assigned the hand of Wilfred to Rebecca, rather than the less interesting Rowennn. But, not to mention that the prejudices of the age render ed such a union almost impossible ; the au thor tuny, in passing, observe, that ho thinks a character of a highly virtuous and lofty Sv-tmp is degtndnd rather than exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with temporal prosperity. Such is not the recompense which providence has deemed wotlhy of suffering merit ; and it is a dangerous and fatal doctrine to teach young persons, the most common readers of romance, that rocliludo of conduct nnd of principle arc either naturally allied with, or adequately rewarded by the gratification of our passions, or attainment of our wishes. In n word, if a virtuous and self-denied character is dismissed with temporal weal'h, greatness, rank, or tho indulgence of such a rashly form ed nr ill sorted pnssion ns that of Rebecca for Ivnnhoe, the reader will be apt to say, verily virtue has had its reward. But a glance on the great picture of life will show, that the du ties of self-denial, and the sacrifice of passion offence, your Honour; it was only a liberty he tohk.’ ‘Well, whot was the liberty?’— ‘Why, you see, Sir, poor Murdock was in delicate health, and his physician advised that he should lake exercise on horseback ; and so, having no horse of his own, lie borrowed one from Squire Doyle’s paddock ; and no sooner was he on its showlders, than the Divil put it into the crncher’s head to go over to Kello- green cattle fair, where he had a good many acquaintances; and when lie got there Mur dock spied a friend at tho door of a shebeen' house, nnd left the animal grazing outside, whilst he went in to have a thimbleful of whis’ key ; and then, you see, they got frisky, and had another, ond another, till poor Murdock went to slope on the binch; and when he wottke up he found the crachcr gone, and his pocket stuffed full with a big lump of money.’ In short, said 1, ‘ you mean to say he has been horse-stealing?’—‘Why, Sir,’ lie replied stammering nnd scratching his head, ‘ they call it so in England.’”—Bernard's Retros Jin Awkward Mistake.-\ mistake of rather nn awkward description occurred a few eve nings ago to a couple of youthful lovers, res? ding not far from Chelmsford. The unfortu note swain, it nppears, had incurred the dis> pleasure of his mistress’s father, who forbade him lo enter the house, and laid strict injunc tion on his daughter not to pass the ‘ threshold’ without leave. This she obeyed to the letter, but hit upon an expedient to gratify her love also, by breaking a square of glnss in the pan try window, through which many “ A long long kiss—a kiss of youth nnd love," Had been given. Three times had the square been replaced, and four limes had it been hro ken ; when Miss attributing it to the cats, her father concealed himself in the place in order to watch. About ten o’clock, the lover up- peered, with a ‘ slow nnd cautious step, which the master hearing, put his Incc to the aperture to ascertain who was coming at t^iat * unhallowed hoar,’ nnd the swain mistaking it for “ his soul's soft treasure” saluted him with the • heart’s token.” The whiskered face made him start. “ By heavens !” thought he “ it is not you—it is somebody else,” nnd soon the direful truth flashed upon him in the shape of the sturdy farmer and nn old musket A parley now ensued, and the mistaken swain agreeing to pay the glazier’s bill, he was ul lowed to depart. Love and Poetry.—Should there be in this enlightened age any incredulous person who still denies that love is productive of poetry and that of the sweetest kind, let him read and pondpr upon the following tributn of a Dum fries lover, to tho charms of his fair ono: “Oh honey is very SArcct, Bat sugar it is sweeter, And niy love as far excels sugar, As sugar does saltpetre.” The Duke of Montague, from whom the Duke of Buccleugh inherits so large a por of his fine estntes, was a great humorist, Among other original modes in which he con trived to minister to his own amusement, ho had a defective looking-glass hung in his drawing-room; so flint all the noble guests who chanced to dine at Montague House were induced, on passing the treacherous mir rnr, to adjust their wigs awry. In that day full dressed wig was as essential ns a fall dress coat; and his Grace’s dinner table com monly presented nn assemblage of noble lords with their perukes dragged down into the right eye, each wondering at his neighbors disorder to principle, arc seldom thus remunerated ; I•ppoorance, and congratulating himsell that nnd that the internal consciousness of their j “Y having settled his own wig in the drawing' higliminded discharge of duty, produces on J." 0 ™ " e * >a “ escaped from the absurdity dis their own reflections a more adequate recom pense, in tho form of that peace, which the world cannot givo or take away.” Resignation.—A military officer being at sen. in a dreadful storm, his lady, who was wniting near him, nnd filled with alarm for the safety of the vessel, was so surprised at his composure nnd serenity, that she cried out, My dear, nro you not afraid*? IIow is it possible you can he so calm in such a storm ?’ He arose from a chair lashed to the deck, and supporting himself by a pillar of a bed place, he drow his sword, nnd pointing it to tho breast of his wife, ho exrlnimed, ‘ Are you not afrnid ?’ She instantly replied, * No, cer tainly not.’ * AVhy ?’ said the officer. ‘ Be cause. rejoined the lady, * I know the sword is in the hand of my husband, and he loves mo too well to hurt mo.’ ‘Then,’ said he, remember 1 know in whom I havo believed, and that lie holds tho winds in his fist, and the waters in the hollow of hts hand.’ Forgetful Ministers.—Tho Rev. Mr. Par ker of Provincetown, had been for years in the habit of praying for the British Government; hut at Iho period of the eventful American Re volution, ho, together wi'h most other clergy men of that time, was zealously opposed to Hath it any favorite vizier,"or I ,,le °PP r e R *ivo measures of England; however, prime mmisier, or confidential vulot, or kept mistress, whereby its ear may be slily gained, nnd its favor indirectly purchased ? Hath it passions to which appeal may he made for Iho purpose of blinding its judgment ? Hath it deep feelings of resentment that it ntay he pro- voked lo anger, that it may hale, persecute and exterimnote those who hold its wisdom in con tempt? Is it ruffied nml disturbed by (lie un handsome language with which it i< oftentimes assailed by its disappointed suitors ? Hath the public any heart, any bowels of compassion— ts there any thing in it ? Can it bn moved to pity, nr is it nut us bard as Iho iron man Talus, whom Spenser sweetly smgclh? It is composed of human elements, but it hath nothing human in its composition ; no relcntiiigs, no forgivtngs, no resentments, no caprices. Compounded of fallible beings, n is infallible in its judgments. Made up of passionate beings, it in most dispassionate.— Consisting of partial beings, it is most impar ity a strange absence of mind, he, one Sab bath, long after America had been declared independent, continued his usual prayer, “Wo beseech thee to bless the King, the Queen, end all tho Royal Family,”—then pausing, with evident embarrassment and vexation, he ndded, “ Pshaw ! Pshaw ! it was the Conti ncntal Congress l meant.” Irish CircumlocutionObserving one day nn unusual commotion in the streets of Derry, I inquired of a bystander the reason ; and be with a mellifluous brogue, replied in the fol lowing metaphorical manner:—‘The rason, Sir, why you seo that Justice and little Larry O’Hone, the carpenter, have been putting up n picture-frame at the end of the strate yon der, and they are going to hang one of Adam’s copies in it.’’ • What’s that ?’—‘ Why, poor Murdock O’Donnel.’ ‘ Oh, there's a man to be hung ?’—* Do they put up a gallows for any other purpose ?’ * What’s his offence ?’—‘ No figuring the rest of the company. A doctor visiting his patient, a lady, reques ted to look at her tongue. She opened hei mouth and put tho er,d of her tongue nut; the doctor said, put it out a little farther, madnin, nnd was under the necessity of'repealing it several limos, the lady only putting her longue out a trifling distance each lime. At length the doctor remarked, put it out ns far as pus sible, madam. “ Mercy doctor,” savs she “ you must think there is no end lo a woman's longue. r A Cast of Emergency.—An Irishman who had made an honest penny by swnpjring hor ses, and taking something to boot, onro of tempted to cross a river during a high freshet with his only remaining mare and colt. IIo was washed from the back ni the former, and seizing the (nil of the colt huffetted the angry waves much to tho dissatisfaction of tho ‘ cra ter.’ His friends on the banks of the rivor seeing his perilous situation, nnd his frail sup port, called out to him lo leave the colt and tako tho mnre. * Oh! botheration lo ye,’ ox claimed Pat, in nil Ins tribulation, ‘ it’s no timo note, jontlcmen to talk about swapping horses. A highwayman and chimney sweep were to be hanged at tho same time; when they came to the place of execution, the highwayman pushed poor Sooterkin out of the way. uud bid him keep his distance. Sooterkin, with pro per spirit, replied, “ D—n tne if I do ; I have ns good a right lo bo hero as you.”—Belt’s Life in JYew York, Mutual Revenge.—Two Irishmen tratelling in the interior of Massachusetts, discovered n green snake in the grass, which alarmed them nt first sight; they immediately commenced puzzling their brains, to devise a method nf kil ling him. whereby he would be the most tor tured ; stoning, burning, dislocating nlive. and various plans wero in turn proposed, however drowning to them seemed most horrible for this poor amphibious reptile. The snake was procipitated accordingly into a pond to the great joy of these sons of Hibernia. Ah ! and by the power of water, exclaimed one to the other, in a hearty laugh ; see, ha! ha! ha 1 see, how he waggles his tail for brenth. NEW YORK MEDXOAL AOASfiMv CIRCULAR. *' T HF. happy effects of the Botanical Sy.tccn, tice, more especially of late, employedi„ of Diseases, are such as entitle it ••rtifitia modern improvements. The opinion long amw t in its favor, by many oftlie judicious, a ihor, pcrieiice has now demonstrated lube well found a ** with the number and variety of its salutary 0 i’* 1 ^ meats, its reputation ia increasing. * It must be evident to every discerning m ; n j ,, the present prevailing practice of medicine ».i • Y hu jecta this Botanical aid, is at variance with our and onr napoincss. Dil »re MERCUliV, the LANCET, and the KNIfp chiefly relied upon by Physicians and Surgeons sfli!* preaeni day, for the removal of almost all {L a. incident to the human body, notwithstanding tu 1 ? feels of these deleterious agents arc evidently 6 i multitudes. Deeply impressed with these fdet, 10 with a view of reforming the science and pracii' .'IS medicine, an individual in this city, in the year is* procured a lot of ground, and erected a handsmJ i convenient edifice for an institution denominated United States Infirmary, expressly for employin.” “ formed system of Practice in the treatment tho remedial sources being chiefly derived fro,,, h*’ productions of our own country. The course of hi, merit adopted by this institution, was principal'sill result of near forty years cxpc.ience of a distiLiZ medical reformer; winch course, we arc liappvtosui has been crowned with success, end provedtoad™ ’ stralion, that, without Mcrcnry, that boasted el,»mH oftlie Materia Mcdiea, or other poisonous drugs cases generally, tnoy be cured by those mure salutary means which the God of Nature h»,ei, rally scattered around us. 8 80 llbc ' Animated by the past success, and with the hnne rf bcncfitting future generations, an irrepressible deiiii has been felt, that measures commensurate will, i|» importance of tho object, should be taken to prornu' gate this valuable system of practice, and thereby ini' prove nnd reform the noble and important science t' medicine. After reflecting for years on the most prudent and successful melhod of effecting so desirable an object i' has been deemed expedient to establish a Alediraj School, with competent teachers; where students nisi receive board and education, until they are fully nutl'. fled to practice in the varioua branches of the Hi slinj Art, upon the reformed system. IVc arc now him* to announce that a building for such an institution & been erected, and opened for the reception of students win can commence at any period. The building ia large nnd commodious, situnird i- Eldridge-etrccl, between Grand and Broomc-sim-t- adjoining the present United Slates Infirmary. It i, a healthy and retired part of the city, ond has bw.i completed at a great expense. The following branches are taught by Lectures, fa. citations, Examinations, and suitable Text books i- 1. Anatomy. 2. Surgery. 3. Theory and Practice of Physic. 4. Midwifery, and Diseases ol Women and Childrcr, 5. Materia Medico, and Practical Botany, G. Chemistry and Pharmacy. The benefits to be derived bv an alt- idance ollHi Institution will, we trust, be duly appreciated by those who wish to acquire a correct knowledge of the lies!, ing Art. Here the student will bo taught all the nir, dern practice which is deemed necessary, in addilior to the Botanical; and in consequence of his residin'- ir, the Institution, and pursuing a systematic conrci: <f studies, combining each nt those departments, he may acquire a knowledge of both in a short space of time, and nt a vory small expense, in comparison to that o; other Medical Institutions. There being an Infirmary connected with the Ac«de- my, the students will have the benefit of Clinical prac tice, by which the experimente! part of medicine will lie acquired with the theory. There will be no specified time to complete a coma of study, but whenever a student is qualified to pm an examination, lie will receive a Diploma. Some wifi require one year, others two or mote yearn, to com plete their studies. For the information of some, wc wish to state, linn this system of Practice ia essentially different from tl.:' disseminated by Dr. Samuel Thompson. REQUISITIONS, The qualifications for admission into the School «i!! bo :—I. A certificate of good moral character.—2. t good English education. TERMS. 1. The price of qualifying a person for practice is S250. One half payable in advance, or at the time ol entering the school; and the other hatful the cxpiii- lion or close of his studies,nr before n Diploma is grunt ed. A deduction of $25 will be made to those v ho pay the whole sum in advance. 2. Board (being nn extra charge) is $2 50 per work, payable weekly or quarterly. 3. Each student must supply hit Bed and Bedding. A liberal allowance will be made to those in indigent circumstances. We have the pleasure to announce that on? school is now fast filling up, and is in successful opr tit* lion; and that there is nn opening in every section ") the United States, for those educated in its Principal and Practice. ♦** Those wishing further information, by address ing a letter, post paid, to the Subscriber, will receive a publication, giving nn account of the lisc, progress and present slate of the above Inslitqiion. IV. BEACH. New York, March 30;—13—io12m. supply himself with Bull, TJLOTOZ&GS JJYD COMMISSION BUSINESS, SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. T HE subscribe! intending to remov- lo S ivanna!' the ensuing fall, for the purpose of transacting & general Commission Business, Respectfully offers bis services to his friends and the public. Ho will devote hit personal attention exclu sively to tho business, and from long experience, ce"- fid-nllv hopes to render entire ntisfaeiion to those who may favor him with their business. His stores will be airy; secure from fire; and readv for the reception of goods or produce bv the first nf October next. JOHN It. ANDERSON. August 31.—35—m5m. Caution. 4 LL persons are hereby cautioned against Irsding for lot of land Nn. 157 in the 4th district nf Mnn- roe county, now in the occupancy of Mr. Anthony Gil mer. The above tract of land, sold in 1826 by the ShenfTof said county, and bought by the subscribe has since been re-sold, titles lo wliich arc also vested in Mr. William Redman of Bullsconnty. It i* understood that the land ia offered for sale—whoever may become the purchaser, will have »o vindicate liis claim, »t best equivocal, at the expense of a lawsuit, as tbc titles t ■ will bo contested. OLIVER P. SHAW. Athens, Jan. 4.—1. 4 LL, mull, NOTICE. persons indebted to the estate of Robert Train- a iiieII. lateofClark county, deceased, are requested ... make immediate payment, and thoeo haying , mands, will present their accounts legally authenticaic ithin the lime prescribed by law. THOMAS AMIS, .Mm Nov. S3.—47.—40d.
