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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 . Two copies for $5, “ •• •> Ten copies for S2O “ •• u Two dollars for six months. “ 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.