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The Muscogee Democrat,
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
By Andrews & Griswold.
Corner of Randolph and Broad streets, ( up-stairs ,)
COLUMBUS, Ga.
TERMS.
THREE DOLLARS per annum — in advance .
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Ten copies for S2O “ •• u
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KT All Letters must be free of postage, except where
money is enclosed.
Vol. 111.
OT&wnrtlttiiwffie
[From the Columbian Magazine.]
VOICES FROM THE OLD WORLD.
BV CRACK GREENWOOD.
A voice from out the Highlands,
Old Scotia’s mountain homes—
From wild burnside and darksome glen
Add craggy steep it comes .’
Is it the shunt of huntsmen bold
Who chase the antlered stag,
Who sound the horn and cheer the hound,
And leap from crag to crag ?
Is it the call of rising clans,
The cry of gathering men ?
Pours freedom's rocky fortress forth
Its Gaelic hordes again ?
Throng round the Scottish chieftains
Such hosts as, long ago,
In mountain storms of valor
Swept down upon the foe ?
When hoarse and deep, like thunder,
Their shouts of vengeful wrath,
And the lightning of drawn claymores
Flashed out upon their path ?
Far other are the fearful sounds
Borne o'er the wintry wave—
Th ■r cry of mortal agony,
The death-groans of the brave 1
For once a foe invincible
The kilted Gael bath found;
At length one held beholds him yield—
Starvation's battle-ground!
Thus, thus come forth the mountaineers—
l’ale, gaunt and ghastly bands,
Who westward turn their frenzied eyes
And stretch their shrivelled hands*!
And like the shriek of madness comes
Their wild, beseeching cry—
“ Bread, bread ! we faint, we waste, we starve !
Bread, bread!—oh God, we die ! ”
And shall they perish thus, whose sires,
Stout warrior-men and stern,
With Wallace battled side by side,
And bled at Bannockburn ?
Where freedom’s new-world realms expand,
Where western sunsets glow,
A nation with one mighty voice
Gives hack the answer—.Vo !
’Tis ours, ! tis ours, the godlike power
To bid doomed thousands live ;
Then let us on the waters cast
The bread of our reprieve—
Give, give!—when Scotia’s proud sons beg—
Oh, heaven, who would not give ?
Ami forms of womanhood are there —
The uTatron affd V, he maid—
Strange, haggard, famine-wasted shapes,
In tattered garbs arrayed;
And these are they whose beauties rare
Are famed in song and story—
And these are they whose mother’s names
Are linked with .Scotland’s glory !
# Ah, they, too, gaze with dim, sad eyes,
Out o'er the western main—
While there are heating woman-hearts
They shall nut gaze in rain !
W e rest not till we minister
To their despairing need—
Give, give!—oh, heaven, who would not give
When Scotia’s daughters plead ?
A voice from Erin's storied isle
Comes sweeping o’er the main—
Ha! calls she ou her sons to strike
For freedom once again ?
Or raises from her heart of fire
The pealing voice of song,
Or rolls the tide of eloquence
The burdened air along ?
Or ringeth out some lay of love,
By blue-eyed maidens sung,
Or sweeter, dearer music yet,
The laughter oi the young ?
Far other is that fearful voice,
A sound of woe and dread—
’T is Erin mourning for her sons,
The dying and the dead !
They perish in the open fields,
They fall beside the way,
Or lie within their hovel-homes,
Their bed, the damp, cold clay,
And watch the sluggish tide of life
Ebb slowly day by day!
They sink as sinks the mariner
When wrecked upon the wave,
“Unkiielled, uncotfined and unknown,”
No winding-sheet— no grace!
To use her cry ; he our reply,
Bread-laden argosies;
Let love’s divine armada meet
Her fearful enemies!
Give, give ! and feci the smile of God
Upon thy spirit lie—
Draw back, and let thy poor soul hear
hs angel’s parting sigh—
Give, give!—oh, heaven, who would not give
When Erin’s brave sons die ?
Oh, sisters, there are famishing
The old with silver hair,
And dead, unbtiried babes are left
To waste upon the air!
And mothers wan and fever-worn
Beside their hearths are sinking,
And maiden forms while yet in life,
To skeletons are shrinking!
Ho, freight the good ship to the wale,
Pile high the golden grain—
A nation’s life-boat spreads her sail,
God speed her o’er the main!
His peace shall calm the stormy skies,
And rest upon the waters—
Give, give! —oh, heaven, who would not give
When perish Erin’s daughters ?
Bchtiien of Riches. The Boston Post,
with ready sympathy, says:—“ There is a very
general sympathy felt for Mr. Gcrrit Smith, of
New-York. He says he has all his life been
weighed down by the charge of a great landed
property left bv his father, which lias deprived
him of a chance to fit himself for the chief magis
tracy. A relief meeting is proposed of those
happy fellows who haven’t been weighed down
by anything left them by their fathers. Wc are
personally acquainted with some of them, and
know that they are ready to bear a part of poor
Mr. Smith’s burden. As to the Presidency, thoro
are several young members of the Suffolk bar,
who, in spite of their immense practice, could
find time to jil him in season to meet the de
mands of the people. They are great on consti
tutional law. We confidently say to Mr. Smith,
that he has no occasion to despair.”
MSCOttE ‘DEMOCRAT..’
THE LAST OFFER.
“Oh! Love wilt master all the power of art.”
‘So Clara you have rejected Mr. Tineford; I
own that I do regret it,’ said Mrs. Crosby to her
niece.
* My dear aunt, would you wish me to marry a
widower, with as many children as followed John
Rogers to the stake ? but whether there were
nine, or ten hse a puzzle to me. Do you
think Mr. Tineford could solve that question ? I
wish I had asked him.’
‘ Mr. Tineford has but three children, as vou
very well know,’ said Mrs. Crosby.
4 But you know, also, my dear aunt, that my
imagination always expatiates in the ‘rule of
three,’ that is making three of one, which thus
brings out the nine without any remainder.’
‘Come, Clara, pray leave this trifling, it does
not become you, and Mr. Tineford is not a char
acter which should excite ridicule,’ said Mrs.
Crosby, gravely. You acknowledged yesterday,
that you thought him excellent, intelligent aiid
agreeable.’
‘ I do think him worthy of nearly every good
adjective in our language, 5 said Clara Dinsmore,;
earnestly. ‘I esteem his character as highly as j
you do; but I could never, never think of marry-1
ing him.’
‘ Oh, Clara!
‘ Spare me, dear aunt; I know all you would
urge in his favor, and I know, too, many reasons
which your tenderness for my feelings would
spare me. I am twenty-nine. O ! So is me,
that I have arrived so near the verge of old maid
ism. My beauty has gone—nay, don’t shake
your head ; Miss Jones says I look positively old
and that she is quite shocked (you know her
benevolent affection for me,) to see such a
change.’
_ ‘ I do not see it, my dear Clara, nor is it so.—
A our cheek is n< t so blooming as it was at nine
teen, but there is at times a more lovely expres
sion in your countenance, a chastened thought
fulness, which gives promise of that tenderness
and goodness which I knew was always in your
disposition, hut which in the years ol‘your bril
liant youth, you did not display.’
‘Who would blame me lor being vain, if they
knew my aunt flattered me thus?’ exclaimed
Clara, tears of gratitude and pleasure filling her
eyes. But 1 must not flatter myself that others !
see with partial affection. 1 know that there is j
a change; my mirror, as well as Miss Jones,
reminds uic of ki-aud Uua .u~—
who were in the misery when 1 came out, call
me old.’
‘lt is a great pity tint girls are permitted to
come out so young,’ said Mrs. Crosby.
‘There is no use of preventative, in mv case,
dear aunt,’ replied Clara, smiling with her usual
cheerfulness. ‘ I am twenty nine, with little |
beauty and no money at all. How can I expect j
another offer ? ’
‘My dear child.it is none of these motives!
which induce me to wish ibis marriage to take j
place,’said Mrs. Crosby, earnestly. ‘ But that 1
L know Mr. Tineford loves you; and ho esti
mates your worth ol'charactei, or lie would not, |
in the maturity of his judgement, when he lias 1
reached such a high eminence in his profession, J
and acquired such distinguished reputation, he
would not thus renew the homage he paid you j
ten years ago. Ido not see how you can have j
the heart to icfuse the .second time.’
‘ Simply because 1 have no heart for him,’
said Clara, with a sigh, and then gaily added,
• you know aunt that he lias been married, and
appeared to love his wile most tenderly; he
doubtless loves bis children, so that between the
regret be is bound to cherish for the memory of
the one, and the affection lie must bestow on the
others, there can be little room in his heart for
love toward me. This second disappointment
w ill not afflict him ; so do not urge the match on
his account.’
4 1 wish it on your own, dear Clara. Since
the loss of my property by the failure of the bank,
my whole concern lias been for you. My annu
ity will cease with my life, and 1 led my strength
tailing daily. Do not look so sorrowful my dar
ling ; I should welcome the change with joy,
were your welfare secured. And to Mr. Tine
ford 1 would entrust your earthly destiny with
perfect confidence.’
4 1 wonder if there ever \va3 a good mother
in-law,’ said Clara, striving to turn the conversa
tion from her aunt’s ill health, which she never
could bear to hear named, although she felt there
was hardly any hope that she could be saved.
4 You would make a good one, Clara : I know
your heart is overflowing with affections, and
tender sympathies ; you would love those little
children dearly; their mother was your intimate
friend, and if their father was your husband, stu
dying your happiness and securing to you every
rational source of rational enjoyment, you could
not refrain from loving his children, or rather
you would feel that they were yours. I cannot
bear to think you’ll finally refuse him, and be
left to struggle alone with the hardships and
cares, and sorrows, which a single woman, with
out relations or fortune, must encounter.’
4 llow careful you are, my dear aunt, of my
happiness,’ said Ciara, gratefully. 4 1 wish 1
could follow your advice ; but 1 should wrong
Mr. Tineford’s generous heart, if I married him
when I do not love him.’
4 You would love him, Clara.’
4 Oh! never attempt to persuade me that love
can be awakened after marriage, when there is
no kindling of affection before the ceremony.
I should undoubtedly esteem him ; I hope, treat
him with propriety; but 1 never should love him,
and you know I have always declared that i
would not marry except I love the man to whom
I pledged my faith,’
Mrs, Crosby looked distressed. 4 1 must then
relinquish all hope,’ said she.
4 You think that I hare lived twenty-nine years
without being iu love, that my heart is ossified,
I supposo,’ said Clara, laughing.
4 1 think when a young lady has had the num
ber of admirers and offers which I know you
have had, and rejected them all, that there is lit
tle reason to expect she will receive others. [
have made up my mind that it is to be your last
offer.’
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
“AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIBLE ! THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM ANI) CONTROLLED BY THU- PEOPLE. AND CMiyRM IN ITS APPLICATION TO ALL.”
COIxU.TIBEJS, Georgia,. Tlißrsday Evcnistg, insie 31, A 84?.
‘ A ou said the same, dear aunt, when I reject
ed Mr. Bellows.’
‘lie was a good man and highly prosperous.
It would have been an excellent match for you.’
‘•A most wretched one—for I positively dis
like him; lie was so prosing and particular, he
would have driven me crazy with his small tidg
etings and solemn le flections. J rather prefer
living like Madame Roland, in a garret on beans,
than to have married him though he had been
as rich as Rothschild.’
Then, there was William Hopkins; lie was
a fine, talented young man ; I thought for a long
time that you liked him.’
‘ 1 did like him as a child does its rattle, for
the amusement he always made ine ; but I could
not respect a man whose manners were so frivol
ous—so like my own. Is not that a candid ad
mission ? ’
‘ But what could you have found to cavil at in
the character or manners of that young man, Lu
cius Howard ? ’
‘ He was too perfect for me, dear aunt,’ said
! Clara. A blush crimsoned her cheek, and there
: was a slight tremor in her voice as she added, —
I ‘ lie never offered me his hand.’
j ‘ Clara, lam sure 1 understood at the time
I that you rejected him.’
‘No, no, aunt—you were deceived.’ Clara’s
voice grew firmer, though her face grew deadly
pale, while she continued, ‘ I have long wished,
long intended, to confide my weakness and dis
appointment to you; but it is so humiliating to
own that one has been crossed in love, that I
never could find the opportunity when my mind
was in the right mood. Now’ it shall be done
that you may feel convinced that I do right in
declining Mr. Tineford; you would not have me
vow at the altar that I loved him, when my heart
is irrecoverably devoted to another. Yes, I did,
I do, love Lucius Howard, and—he loved me, i
but thought me unworthy to lie his wife.’ She
covered her face with her hands, and hurst into
tears.
Clara, my darling, this cannot be. He ne
ver‘could have thought you unworthy; hut he
might have feared you would reject him,’ said
Mrs., Crosby.
‘No ‘no;’ replied Clara, in a voice of deep
agony ; no, lie knew that I loved him, and I be.
lievc he had little doubt that 1 would accept him ;
but he thought I permitted or rather encouraged
attentions from others. You know liow many
1 L-j ™ -v - <l ur I f-l
Mr. Tineford, and a dozen others; ‘.here was
then no shadow on my beauty, and I triumphed
in the power it gave me. Fatal power, most
foolishly I used it to vex the noble heart that
loved me, and whose love 1 returned. 1 trifled
till Lucius Howard thought me a confirmed co
quette, and when lie acknowledged his deep af
fection for me, he told ine he did it to prove to |
me the constancy of his principles ; as he knew
he had often betrayed his love, he came to make
the avowal openly, but at the same time to tell
me that he did not seek a return, and he did not
ask my hand—he believed our dispositions and
tastes were 100 dissimilar to allow him to hope
tor happiness with mo. He invoked heaven to
protect and bless me, and took leave of me—
forever.
Mrs. Crosby was sadly distressed and con
founded by this disclosure. She had always
thought her niece remained single because she
found no one to suit her fastidious taste. Never
did she dream that Clara, the gay Clara Dins
ntore, had nursed a secret and hopeless passion.
Mr. Howard she well knew, had left that part of
the country entirely; he was settled in the min
istry at the south ; she had heard that lie was one
of the shining lights of the age, and she felt al
most certain that she had heard ol his marriage,
too, so she could not flatter her dear Clara with
the least hope of ever renewing her acquaintance
with him. But if she would be persuaded to ac
cept Mr. Tineford, who she doubted not would
lie too glad to marry her, though she had loved,
the good aunt thought she might still look for
ward to days of happiness for her niece. So she
began her work of comforting, remarking that
no person can expect an unshadowed lot. She
reminded Clara of the fortitude with which she
had, hitherto borne her disappointment of the
heart—entreated her tiol to allow the remem
brance of a scene so long past to overcome her
now—showed her how much good had already
arisen from their disappointment as doubtless
that improvement to Clara’s character, which
had been remarked by every one, had been
effected in consequence of the new reflections
awakened by the parting words of Lucius. Mrs.
Crosby hiuie! that if Clara would only consent
to marry Mr. Tineford, and as she was well
qualified to do, train his motherless children in
the way they should go, and make his home the
place of happiness to him, as she easily could,
that she would be a heroine indeed, as much su
perior to those who marry at the end of the iash
ionablo novels, as Rebecca the Jewess was to
Rowena.
But poor Clara was resolute to her vow of
single-blessedness, and really felt that her aunt
had compromised her dignity, when she acknow
ledged that she had invited Mr. Tineford to take
tea with them that evening; and furthermore per
mitted him to bring a friend who was at his
house. 4 1 told him truly the state of my heart,’
said Clara. 4 1 fcit it was due to the disinterest
ed regard he lmd manifested for me, that he
should know why I could not return his affection.
Andi told him then, that 1 should, lor the future
avoid his society, lest I might be tempted to
speak of Lucius Howard. I fear he will think I
have no consistency of character.’
Mrs. Crosby promised to do the honors of the
evening to her guests, but thought Clara must
be present, and Anally she consented. At the
appointed hour, Mr. Tineford and* his friend ar
rived, and were warmly welcomed by Mrs. Cros
by. Mr. Tineford inquired, with a smile of
much meaning, for Miss Dinsmore.
4 She will be with us soon,’ said her aunt.
‘She has not been quite well to-day.’ The
friend of Mr. Tineford looked distressed. Just
then Clara entered ; the excitement of her feel
ings deepened the color of her cheeks, till she
looked as blooming as she did at nineteen—and
more beautiful, Lucius Howard thought, as ho
stepped forward to greet her.
Boor Clara ! she was quite overcome for the
moment, as she looked at Mr. Tineford and
thought of Uie confession she had made to him,
and lelt her band in the clasp of Howard’s. Lut
a!( wae soon settled'; and gp<jd funiC'Orosfcv as
■%St- prepared for rkif
niece with Lucius Howard, declared that the last
offer was the host that Clara ever had, and she
become convinced that a woman had better live
single, than to marry one man while her heart
vva3 given to another.’
THE MODERN IIAROUN AT, RASCHID.
Napoleon was very fond of walking in the
streets of Paris incognito in search of adventures.
On these occasions he generally wore a round
hat and a long blue great coat, in which his ap.
pearance was not altogether prepossessing. In
consequence ol this he was occasionally receiv
\ ed with a coolness and indifference to which, in
propria persona , he was unaccustomed. One
morning shortly before Christmas, lie arose at
seven and accompanied by Duroc, Grand Mar
shall of the Palace, (who wore the same sort of
disguise as Napoleon) left the Tuiileries just as
day was breaking. After a walk to the place
Vendomc, thence to the Rue Napoleon—now
called the Rue de la Paix—where he much ad
mired the splendid mansions which had recent
ly been erected there ; chatting familiarly with
Duroc, he observed:
‘lt seems that the Parisians in this quarter
are very lazy, to keep their shops shut up at this
time of day.’
Discoursing thus they arrived at the Chinese
bath rooms, which had been recently painted
and embellished. As they were critizing the
exterior, the case which belonged to the estab
lishment opened.
‘ Suppose we enter and breakfast here,’said
Napoleon to Duroc ; ‘ what do you say ? has net
your walk given you an appetite ? ’
‘Sire it is too early ; it is only eight o’clock.’
‘Bah, bah! your walk is always too slow !
As for me, lam quite hungry. Afterwards we
can return home.’
And without waiting for an answer, Napoleon
entered the case, took his seat at the table and
called for the waiter, and requested some mutton
chops and a bottle ofebamhelin v, ine, and having
biWtk,fu,sted von hoaiiny. and taken a cun of cof
fees which lie protested was better than he was
supplied with at the Tuiileries, he called the
waiter and demanned the bill, saying to Duroc :
‘Pay and let us return now;’ then rising and
going to th? door, he began to whistle an Italian
recitative, endeavoring to appear at ease. The
Grand Marshal rose at the same time, but after
fruitlessly searching his pockets, found that hav
ing dressed in haste, ho had forgotten his purse,
and he well knew that Napoleon never carried
any money about him. Nevertheless the waiter
came with the hill and presented it to the Grand
I Marshal, who stood mute with surprise, and not
being able to discharge it, although the amount
was only twelve francs. Napoleon, not know ing
what detained Duroc, and not accustomed to be
kept waiting, re-entered, saying impatiently—
‘t.'ome, make haste, it is iate.’
The Grand Marshal now comprehending the
unpleasant situation in w hich he was placed, and ,
thinking the best way to get out of it was to !
avow frankly his inability to discharge the debt,
approaching the mistress of the cate, (who sat ;
silently arid indifferently at the counter,) and said
politely and confusedly—
‘ .Madame, my friend and myself left home this
morning a little precipitately; we quite forgot to I
bring our purses—but 1 give you my word that in 1
j an hour I will send you the amount of your bid.
‘it may be so, sir, coldly replied the lady; i
| ‘but I know neither of you, and we are every
j day taken in in this manner. Do you think
i that ’
‘Madame,’ interrupted the Grand Marshal,
i reddening with rage at this answer, ‘ we are men
j of honor, we are officers of the guaid ! ’
‘ Oh, yes! fine excuses, truly! officers of the
guard, indeed ! ’
At tiiese words, men of honor and officers of
i the guard, which Napoleon had overheard, he i
turned round, atid in. a v. ice which had caused j
| heroes to tremble; demanded—
‘ What is all this about ? ’
But at a sign from Duroc ho remained impa
tiently where he was. The waiter now stepped
forward and volunteered to be answerable for
the debt, with which assurance the mistress of
the case was satisfied. Duroc regarded the
young man with surprise, and drawing fin in his
pocket a gold watch encircled with brilliants,
said to him :
4 My friend, you have acted nobly; keep the
watch till 1 return to recompense you.’
‘dir,’ said tiie waiter, 4 1 have no wish to take
it: l feel convinced that you are men of honor.’
4 Good, my friend,’said the Grand Marshal,
4 you shall never repent your confidence in us.’
lie then rejoined the Emperor.
Duroc recounted the particulars of the adven
ture to Napoleon, who laughed heartily and was
pleased with the generosity of the poor waiter
who had become security tor them without know,
ing who they were. On their way to the palace
they came to the Passage des Panoramas, which
was then one of the most elegant passages or
covered ways in Paris. There a shop attracted
the attention of Napoleon, it contained a line
collection of porcelain vases. Two superb ones
were exposed to \ iew, and appearing to the Em
peror very tasteful, lie entered the shop and de
manded the price. The mistress of the shop
with a sneer on her countenance coolly asked if
he wished to purchase them 1
4 Why, madarne 1 should not have asked the
price unless 1 hud thought of purchasing them,’
said Napoleon, irritated by the cool imputation
of the woman.
4 Four thousand francs (£160) not a farthing
less, monsieur.
4 Four thousand francs ! that is horribly dear,
madaine, much too dear for trie! ’
And touching his hat, he was about to leave
the shop when the merchandc, with her hands in
her pockots added sarcastically :
, ‘They cost me live thousand; hut it is hotter
‘fif sol! at cost these times than staive. There
are.fine doings m.w-a-daysi al ays war! nil the
wtu.’J'compiains ! Business is at ajjfciuid still
and the siioj.keej.vis are labicdMut \vc do
/dot poy les.s tjjujs.’ 7
■iHirituy thisJtajisnte
• SeeftVne- rigfl’r ci VelTii -■’ Wvre
!flushed with mge: at length he interrupted her
| by saying : j
‘ Madame, have you a husband ? Where is ;
jhe ? Can I see him ?’
i ‘Eh ! la! in ! do rot be angry, monsieur. Ii
j have a husband, thank heaven ! but he has gone !
|to seek money. But what can you want with j
| him when I am here ?
‘ Enough, madame, enough! I wished to tell j
i your husband that—perhaps I should send for
i those vases.
lie then left the shop, disgusted with the mer
chande, whose coolness and politics had so much
exasperated him.
1 Faith ! ’ said lie, when he had rejoined Du-!
roc, ‘ I have had a sound lecture from a foolish j
woman who seems to attend more to politics i
than her business ! Oh ! I will have her hus- j
band’s head shaved ; it is his lault.’
The Emperor and the Grand Marshal now
returned to the Tuilleries, having both met with
! adventures, the one with a shopkeeper, and the
other with a waiter.
j About six weeks after this occurrence Napo
j leon said to Duroc,
‘ i have nothing to do now, suppose we go j
| and see how the shops look. Bye-the-bye, how ‘
; J:d you settle the aiiair at the Chinese Baths?’ j
‘ Indeed, sire, I am glad you have mentioned j
the subject, for I had quite forgotten all about it.’;
4 That is wrong, Duroc, very wrong. I may
;be allowed to forget such trifles; but you
‘Sire, I will immediately make the amende
! honorable.’
‘ Yes, do; and let it be done in a way that
j will please me ; you understand. At the same
| time let the female politician he ordered to send
j her husband here, with the two vases which I
j looked at when I paid her a visit. I am some- j
; what in her debt. 4 Ah ! ah ! ’lis inr turn now,.
; and we shall see ! ’
j Duroc having given precise directions to one
’ of the imperial footmen, dispatched hirn to the
Chinese Baths, when he thus addressed the inis
, tress of the atre ; „
1 ‘Madame, did not two gentlemen break fist.
■ here about six weeks since, without nettling their
bill ? ’ !
‘Yes, monsieur,’ replied tlie lady, vey much
troubled, seeing that the inquirer wore the livery
i of the palace.
j ‘ Well, Madame, these gentlemen were the
| Emperor and the Grand Marshal of the palace!
| Can l see the waiter who became security for
for them 1 ’
‘Yes, certainly, sir.’
The mistress rang the hell, and felt very un
j easy; she thought of nothing loss than going to
; the palace and imploring the forgiveness of the
Emperor. When the waiter appeared, the foot
i man gave him a roll of fifty Napoleons, and said
. to him :
‘ln addition to this, the Grand Marshal has
charged me to say, that if you have any favor to
ask for yourself or friends, he willjje most happy
to grant it.’
‘filename of the waiter was Dargens; lie
hastened to accept the kind offer of the Grand
Marshal, who instantly made him one of the im
perial footmen. He soon gained the confidence
of’the Empress Josephine, and became her spe
cial attendant. After her divorce he accompa-1
nied her to Mahnaison, and—singular destiny of;
men at this time—eventually entered the service j
of Wellington in 1814.
After his visit to the case, the imperial foot-:
man reached the Passage ties Panoramas, when
lie entered the shop of the voluble marcha/ide.
‘Sir,’ said he, addressing the master, ‘you are j
requested to go to the palace immediately with
two vases which the Emperor enquired the price j
of about six weeks ago, in your shop, ilis impe- 1
riui Majesty is now waiting for vou.’
‘ Heavens ! ’ lie cried, ‘! shall he shot.’ Then
addressing his wife who was terribly frightened i
and unable to speak, lie said—
‘ 1 have no doubt but that you, rnadame, have j
been talking politics to the Emperor, speaking ill j
of the government as you always do ; and this to j
die Emperor himself! When will you Irajn to j
cease your cursed babbling? Ah, mon dieu'l—j
I am a lost man, I shall be shot!’ I
Here fright nearly.oveipowed the poor man,
who seemed shocked that his wife should have |
taken the Emperor for a police spy. However, j
lie mustered ail his courage and arrived with the ;
vases at the Tuilleries, and where he was iinme- 1
diately ushered into the presence of Napoleon, j
who thus addressed him :
‘So, sir, 1 have found you at las*—l am glad ;
to see you here.’
Then taking from his desk eight bank notes [
for a thousand francs each, he presented them
to the dealer, who was trembling with fear, and
w ith great difficulty advanced to ieceive them. \
And now, with that peculiar sarcastic brevity
with which he invariably spoke when he wished
to reproach, he added :
‘lwc nt the oilier day to your shop. I bar
gained for two vases, your wife askedMbur thous
and francs telling me they cost her five thousand.
Well, although that was a falsehood, I now give
you eight thousand; take them. There are four
for the vases and four for yourself. But tell your
wife that if she does not attend to her domestic
affairs instead of politics, morblieu! 1 w ill send
her where she will he taken care of, and you,
too, to teach you both to be more silent. Go,
sir—that is all 1 have to say to you ; lion Soil'.
‘Did you tell me this morass was hard at the
bottom?’said a young horseman to a country
man, when his horse had sunk up to his saddle
girth. ‘Yes, I did, but you are not halfway to
the bottom yet.’
Editors are the pump handles of charity—
“always helping other folks to water, but never
supposed to be thirsty themselves.”
Book & Job Printing Office,
By Andrews & Griswold,
corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs.)
PLIIV and PRINTING,
•aeh as BiU Heads, Post Bills, Handbills, Circulars
Cards. Pamphlets, Checks, Bills of Lading, Bills
of i*senangt, -Wnutes, end Blanks of every
description,
xatuisd is, ’.he M.m style of :i le Art, in various Colored
I’dts, or in gold, siher unidßronze,
-.7 nt trie very lowest ratnv, r~c
COI.TkHII US—-Her Resources—Water Power—
MotUiACTOUIES IS THE SOUTH.
The following article is the conclusion of a
long communication from the pen of one of our'*
mosj ‘ntelltgent and talented citizens, on the gen
etft subject of domsjfie induspyjn. % §outh u t;i.
I connexion-with our own peculiar advantages of
j location for advancement in wealth and prosper
ity. The facts set forth—and which tho author
is willing to vouch for—as to the profits of the
Cotton manufacture, will probably astoni-h ma
ny of our readers, who are engaged in the culture
oi Cotton, and who are compelled to pay an enor
mous tux upon the English and Northern manu
facture of their own staple, in the way of trans
portation to and from the Workshops, commis
sions, insarance, protits, &c. We commend the
views presented to the calm consideration of the
Southern public, and especially to capitalists in
and around Columbus, believing that nothing is
wanting to make our town, indeed and in truth,
the “ Lowell” of die South, but a little more en
ergy on the part of those who are able to make a
diversion ot a portion of the capital now vested
in land and negroes to the more profitable busi
ness of manufacturing.— Ed. Mas. Democrat.
Mr. Editor: —l by no means pretend to have
the knowledge of Adam Smith, Puffendorf, Gro
tius or Malthus, by which to point my country
men the road to wealth, or how to make a 4 nim
ble sixpence worth a slow shilling,’ but I hope
1 may be pardoned for asking the question, how
long will it be before the Southern people will
learn simple addition, or the iu!e o i'profit and
loss which their arithmetic taught them in the
old lield school ?
Here, within a stone’s throw of where I am
writing, at our very doors, vc have the Jinest
Water Poucr in the world ! This may appear
strange to some, yet it is nevertheless true. The
celebrated traveller, Capt. Bazil Hall, visited
this city in 1828, when it was being laid out
tor a commercial and trading town, and on ex
aming the Coweta Falls, as it was then called,
from the Bridge to Col. Jones’ City Mills, lie
slated to me, that ifthl ■ vat • povoi was in the
neighborhood of Birmingham, Manchester or
faheftieid, it would be worth a half a million site
ling ; and when told that by an accurate survey
of the State Engineer, there was, for only three
miles, a fall oi one hundred and eleven feet and
\ a quarter, he was yet more astonished, but
this significant remark: 44 It would be
i worth a mint of money in England, but it was
I worth less to us, as England would continue to
bo our manufacturers for tho next five hundred
)eais ! ’ He proved himself no Daniel, liowev
ei, tor in six years afterwards the Columbus
Factory went into successful operation, and has
ever since continued to realize fine profits.
1 he Coweta Fails Factory has been in ope
ration but twenty months, [is capital stock at
the time of its starting wass2o,ooo, and during
these twenty months has been increased to
§52,000 including the labor of the machine
shop, which turns out work not inferior to that of
Lowell, or any other place in the Union. The
dimensions ot this building are 7a feet long by
48 wide, 5 stories high ; the foundation is laid
on solid rock and built of rock, 27 feet high and
12 feet thick: tho brick walls are 27 inches
thick. The whole is covered with a tin fire
proof roof, with a handsome belfry, on the top
ot which is a beautiful statue of a lady holding
a lightning rod in her hand, intended to repre
sent the perfection to which the mechanic arts
have attained.
Building materials are as cheap here as in
any other place in the United States ; the best
brick can be bought for §3 per thousand, and
lumber fir 75 cents to 81 a hundred. Hence
the cost of the above named beautiful building
was only six thousand doila"s! The company
have 1800 spindles in operation, besides looms
and wool carding machines, and are making
heavy cotton Ozuaburgs, cotton Blankets for
negroes, and Yarns of all sizes—the weaving
and spinning department being conducted by 8.
B. 8-Wn ii, Esq. and the machine shop superin
tended by .Mr. Jonathan Burnous, both enter,
prising citizens of the Northern States.
Two Factory lots have recently been sold,
and two or three others are under negotiation,
‘the dam extending from the east to the west
hank of the Chattahoochee river, and resting on
solid granite rock across its entire length, is live
hundred feet long. The canal that carries the
water to the factories, will average a hundred
feet in width, planted on solid rock ; the depth
of the water will average 9 feet ; the lower end
ot the race to carry off - the water from the
wheels, is sixty feet wide, cut through solid
rock, that in depth will average twelve feet.—
The length of the canal is 1150 feet, with ahead
and fall in all, of 15 feet. The breadth of the
: lots is 72 feet, some of them running hack 200,
and some 250 feet, or more. There are 19 itn
| proved Factory Lots, the canal already com
! pleted for the same. The rock work of the
! dam and canal, (the walls of the latter being 9
j feet thick, of solid stone masonry,) cost about
810,000. The depth yf the main dam is 5 foot.
1 This elitei prize was first undertaken by Messrs.
| Jo to 11. Howard and Josephis Echols, of this
city. Madam Rumor was busy in our streets
for a long time, predicting that it would break
I ilioni into doll rags, but 1 am happy to say that
[their efforts have been crowned with complete
! and triumphant success—a monument of their
enterprise, foresight and wisdom. Three years
since, they purchased the water privileges tronr
the city, for 85000, which was then perfectly
useless to it and every body else. I have no
doubt the property is now worth 8250,000.
23.