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AMBIIOIN ißMiillf. ihe most perfect Gove nine t lvouid be that which, emanating directly from the People, Governs lesst—f’osts least—Disp uses Justice to all and confers Privileges on None.—BENTIIAM. VOL. Li DU. WM. GKKEJf - EDITOR. Ai4.Sf.IOA:; DSIICOP.AT. ; PUBLISHED WEEKLY, IN THE REAR OF J. BARNES' BOOKSTORE. MULBERRY STREET, MACON. CEO. AT TWO DOLLA.I* PS.i ANWU Wi, wj- IN ADVANCE -Cii Rates of Advertise ", &c. On* square, ol 100 words, i.i !«a~, in small type. 75 rents for the first insertion, anJ 50 cents for each subsequent inser tion. All Advertisements containing more than 100 and less than 200 words, will be charged as two squares. To Yearly Advertisers, a liberal deduction will be made. N u Hales of LAND, by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on die firs, Tuesday in the month, between the hours of 10 in the fore noon, and 3 in the afternoon, at the Court-House in the Conn, ty in which the property is situated. Notice of these must be given in a public Gazette, SIXTY DAYS, previous to the day ol sale. Salts of PERSONAL PROPERTY, must be advertised in the same manner. FORTY DAYS previous to the day of sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate, must be pub lishc.l FORTY Days. Notice that application will be made to ihe Court of Ordi- | tary, for leave to sell LAND, must be published FOUR MONTHS. Sales of NEGROES, must be made at public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month, between the legal hours ol j sale, at the place of public sales in the county where die let. - lers testamentary, of Administration or Guardianship, shall have been granted, SIXTY DAYS nonce being previously given in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door , of the Court-House, where such sales are to be held. Notice for leave to sell NEGROES, must be published for | FOUR MONTHS, before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. All business of ibis nature, will receive prompt attention, at t he Office of ihe AMERICAN DEMOCRAT. REMITTANCES BY MAIL.—“A Postmaster may en- j close money in a letter to the publisher of a newspaper, to 1 pay die subscription of a third person, anti frank the letter, if | written by himself.” Amos Kr.ndaU. V. Af G. COMMUNICATIONS addressed to the Editoh Post Paid. A CAPITAL SKETCH BY LEVEH. O'Kelly having one evening lost him self in the narrow stteets and dangerous purlieus of the “Isle St. Louis,” in Paris, the following adventure occurred to him: ) A tall figure, wrapped up in a cloak, produced a tinder hox, and began to clink deliberately with a steel and flint. Everv flash showed me some savage looking face, where crime and famine struggled for mastery, while I could mark that many had laryre clubs of wood, and one or two were armed with swords. I drew my breath with short efforts, and was preparing myself for the struggle, in which, though I saw death before me, I resolved to sell life dearly, when a hand was passed across the pillar of the door and rested on my leg. For a second it never stirred ; then slowly moved up to my knee, where it stopped again. .My heart seemed to cease its beating; I felt like one around whose body some snake is coiling fold after fold his slimy grasp. The hand was gently withdrawn, and before 1 could recover from my surprise, I was seized by the throat and hurled out into the street. A savage laugh rang through the crowd, and a lantern just lighted was held up to my face, while he j who spoke first called out— ‘You didn’t dream of escaping us, beta, did you V at the same moment hands were thrust into my various pockets; the few silver pieces l possessed were ta ken ; my watch torn off, my hat exam ined, and the lining of my coat ripped opened, and all so speedily that 1 saw at once I had fallen into experienced hands. “Where do you live in Paris?” said the first speaker, still holding ihe light to my face, and staring fixedly at me while 1 answeri and. “I am a stranger and alone,” said I, for the thought struck me, that in such a circumstance frankness was as good policy as any other. “ I came here to see the cathedral, and lost my way in re turning.” “But where do you live? in what quarter of Paris?” “The Rue d'Alger, No. 14, the second story.” “What effects have you therein mon ey ?” “One English banknoteforfivepounds; nothing more.” “Any jewels, or valuables of any kind?” ( “None; lam as poor ns any man in Paris." “Does the porter know your name in the house ?” No ; 1 am only known as the English man of No. 14.” “What are your hours?—irregular, are they not?” “Yes ; 1 often come home very late.” “That’s all right. You speak French very well. Can you write it ?” “Yes ; sufficiently so for any common pn rpose.” Here then, said he, opening a large pocket-book, “write an order for which I’ll tell you, to the concierge, of the house. Take this pen.” With a trembling hand I took the pen, and waited for his direction. w ls it a woman who keeps the door of > r our hotel ?” “Yes,” said I. "“Well, then, begin—Madame In Con verge, let the hearer of this note have the key of my apartment.” As I lollowed with my hand the words, * could mark that one of the party was 'vnispering in the ear of the sjteaker. and then moved slowly around to my back. DEMOCRATIC BANNER - FREE TRADE; LOW DUTIES; NO DEBT; SEPARATION PROM BANKS; ECONOMY; RETRENCHMENT; AND A STRICT ADHERENCE TO THE CONSTITUTION.--./ C. C.1..U1H.Y. “Hush, what’s that ?” cried the chief I speaker—‘Be still there ;’ and as we lis | toned, the rich chorus of a number of voices singing in parts, was heard at some little distance off’. “This infernal nest of fellows must he rooted out of this, one day or other,” said the chief; ‘and if I end my days on tin- Place de ia Drove, Pll try and do it. Hush there—be still—they’re passing on ;” true enough, ihe sound began to wax fainter, and my heart sank heavily, as I thought the last hope was leaving I me ; suddenly a thought dashed through my mind—death in one shape is as had as another. I’ll do it—l stooped down as if to continue my writing, and then collecting my strength for the effort, and taking a deep breath, 1 struck the man in front a blow with all my might, that felled him to the ground, and clearing him with a spring, bounded down the street. My old Indian teaching had done me good service here ; few u bite men could have caught me in an open plain, with space and sight to guide me, and 1 gained at every stride ; but alas, 1 dared not stop to listen whence the sounds pro ceeded, and con and only dash straight for ward, not knowing where it might lead me, down a steep rugged street, that grew narrower as I went. I plunged when, horror of. horrors, I heard the Seine plashing at the end; the rapid current of the river surged against the heavy timbers that defended the banks with a sound like a death-wail. A solitary trembling light lay afar off in the river from some barge that was at anchor there; I fixed my eye upon it and was preparing for a plunge, when, with a half-suppressed cry, my pursuers sprang up from a low wharf I had not seen below the quay, and stood in front of me ; in an instant they were upon me, a shower of blows fell < n my head and shoulders, and one, armed with desperate resolution, stuck me on the forehead and felled me on the spot. “Be quick, now, he quick !” said a voice I well knew—“ into the river with him; the filets de St. Cloud will catch him by day break, into the river with him.” They tore off my coat and shoes, and dragged me along towards the wharf; my senses were clear, though the blow laid deprived me of all power to resist, and 1 con Id calculate the little chance stili left me, when once I had reached the river, when a loud yell and a whistle was heard afar off—another, louder fol lowed—the fellows around me sprang to their legs, and with a muttered curse and a cry of terror, darted off’ in different di rections. I could hear now several pis tol shots following quick on each other, and the noise of a scuffle with swords; in ail instant it was over, and a cheer burst forth like a cry of triumph. “Any one wounded there?’ shouted a deep manly voice from the end of the street. 1 endeavored to call out, but my voice fai’ed me. “Halloa there, any one wounded?”; said the voice again, when a window was opened over w*y head, and a man held a candle oat, and looked into the street. “This way, this way,” said he, as he caught sight of my shadow where 1 lay. “Ay, I guessed they went down here,” said the same voice l heard first, as he came along, followed by several others. “Well, friend, are you much hurt; any blood lost ?” No, only stunned,” said I, “and al most well already.” “Have you any friends here—were you quite alone ?” sSI “Yes ; quite alone.” “Os course you were—why shotdd I ask? That murderous gang never dar ed to lace two m n yet. Come, are yon able to walk ? Oh, you’re a stout fellow, I see—come along with us. Come, Lud wig, put a hand under him, and we’ll soon bring him up.” When they lifted me up, the sudden motion caused a weakness so complete, that I fainted, and knew little more of of their proceeding-, {ill I found myself lying on a sofa in a large low room where some forty persons were seated at a long table, most of them smoking from huge pipes of regular German propor tions. “Where am I?” was my question, as I looked about and perceived that the par ty wore a kind of blue uniform, with fur on the collar and cuffs, and a grey-hound worked in gold on the arm. “Why, you’re safe, my good friend,” said a voice beside me—“that’s quite enough to know at present, is’nt it ?” “1 begin to agree with you,” said I, I coolly, arid so, turning round on my side, 1 closed my eyes, and fell into ns pleas ant a sleep as ever 1 remember in my life. They were, indeed, a very singular class of restoratives which my kind friends thought proper to administer to me; nor am l quite sure that a barca role of chocolate, dashed with rum and j friction over the face, with hot can de Cologne , are sufficiently appreciated I v the “faculty,” but this Itlo know, that 1 ! felt very much revived by the application ! without and within, and with a face ! somewhat the color of a copper preserv ; ing pan, and far too hot to put any tiling 1 on, I sat up and looked about me. A MACON, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1843. merrier set of gentlemen not even my experience had ever beheld. They were mostly middle-aged, griziy-looking fel lows, with very profuse beards and mous tacliios; their conversation was partly French, partly German, here and there a stray Italian diminutive crept in—and to season the whole, like cayenne in a ragout , there was an odd curse in En<r lish. Their dress, their free and easy man ner, their intimacy with each other, and above all, the locale they had chosen for their festivities, made me, I own, a little suspicious about their spotless morality, and 1 began conjecturing to what possi ble calling they might belong; now guessing them to l e smugglers—now, police of some kind or other—now, high waymen outright, but without being able to come to any conclusion that even ap proached satisfaction. The more 1 lis tened, the more did my puzzle grow on me ; that they were the most distinguish ed and exalted individuals, or the most confounded story-tellers was certain. Here was a fat greasy little fellow, with a beard like an Armenian, who was talk ing of a trip to be made to Greece with the Duke of !snxe Weimar; apparently they were on the best terms together, and bad a most jolly time of it. There was a large handsome man, with short black moustache, describing a night at-1 tack by wolves, made on the caravan he 1 wag j n during a journey to Siberia. I j listened with intense interest to his nar { rative; the scenery, the danger, the prep aration for defence, had all those little traits that bespoke truth, when, confound him, he destioyed the whole in a mo ment as he said “At that moment, the Archduke Nicholas said to me”—the Archduke Nicholas, indeed—very good that—he’s just as great a liar as the other. “Come,” thought I, “there’s a respect able-looking old fellow with a bald head; let us hear him; there’s no boasting of the great people he never met with, from that one, I'm sure.” “We were now coming near to Vien na,” continued he, “the night was dark as pitch, when avidette came up to say that a party of brigands, well known thereabouts, were seen hovering about the post station the entire evening. We were well armed, but still by no means numeious, and it became a grave ques tion what we were to do ? I got down immediately and examined the loading and priming of the carbines—they were all right, nothing had been stirred. “W hat’s the matter ?” said the duke. “Oh,” said I, “ then there's a duke here also.” “What’s ihe matter?” said the Duke of Wellington, “Oh, by Jove ! that beats all,” cried 1, jumping up on the sofa, and opening both my hands with astonishment. “I'd have wagered a trifle on that little fel low, and hang me if he isn't the worst of the whole set.” “Wt lat’s the matter—what’s happen ed ?” said they, all turning round in a mazement at my sudden exclamation; “is the man mad ?” “It’s hard to say,” replied I; “but if Tin not, yoil must be, unless I have the honor, which is perfectly possible, to he at this moment in company with the Ho y Ahiunee; for so help me, since I’ve sat here and isten and to you, there is not a crOwued-head in Europe, not a queen, notan archduke, ambassador and generai-in-chief, some of you have not been intimate with; and the small man with the red beard has just let slip some-. tiling about the Shaft of Persia. The torrent of laughter that shook the table, never ceased for lull a quarter of an hour. Old and young, smooth and grizly, they laughed till their faces were ; seamed with rivulets, like a mountain in j winter, and when they would endeavor | to address me, they’d burst out as fresh ! as ever. “Come over and join us, worthy j friend,” said lie, who sat at the head of j the hoard, “you seem well equal to it; and perhaps our character as men of truth may improve on acquaintance.” “What in Heaven’s name are you ?” said I. Another burst of merriment was the only r ply they made me. 1 never found such difficulty in making my way ill certain classes of society where th e tqpo was a familiar one; whore a bon-mot was a good currency, and a joke passed we) . 'here [ was at home and to assume the features of tfie party was with me a kind of instinct which 1 could not avoid. It cost me neither effort nor strain—l caught up the spirit as a child catches up an accent, and wont the pace as pleas antly as though 1 had been bred among them. I was therefore but a short time at table when by way of matriculation. I deemed it necessary to relate a story ; and certainly if they had astounded me by the circumstances of either high and mighty acquaintances, I did not c.pare them in my narrative, in which the Ern ! peror of China figured as a very coin ! mon-place individual, and the King of j Candia came in just incidentally as a | rather dubious acquaintance might do. j For a time they listened [ike people who are well accustomed to give and i take these kind of miracles; but when 1 mentioned something about a game of leap-frog on the walls of China with tin celestial himself, a perfect shout of in credulous laughter interrupted me. “Well,” said I, “don't believe me il you don’t liKe ; but here 1 have been th whole evening listening to you, and ii have not bolted as much as that, m name’s not Con O’Kelly.” But it is not necessary to tell you how step by step, they led me to credit a they were saying, hut actually to tell m\ own real story to them, which ldid fron beginning lo end down to the very mo ment l sat there, with a large glass o. hot claret before me, as happy as uiigh be. “And you really are so low in purse ?’ said one. “And you have no prospect of any oc cupation, nor any idea of a livelihood 7” cried another. ‘Just as much as I expect promotion from my friend the Emperor of China,” said I. “You speak French and German well enough, though ?” “And a smattering of Italian,” said I. “Come, you’ll do admirably ; be one of us.” “Might t make hold enough to ask what trade that is ?” “You don’t know J you can’t guess even.” “Not eVen guess,” said I, “except you report for the papers, and come here to nmke up the news.” “Something better than that, I hope,” said the man at the head of the table.— “What think you of a life that leads a man about the world from Norway to Je rusalem—that shows him every land the 1 sun shines on, and every nation on the globe, travelling with every luxury that can make a journey easy and a road pleasant; enables him to visit whatever is remarkable in every city of the uni verse ; to hear Pasta at St. Petersburgh in the winter, and before the year ends to see an Indian war-dance among the red men of the Rocky Mountains; to sit ! beneath the shadow of the Pyramids, as j it were to-day, and ere two months be j over, to stand in the spray of Tolhatan, and join a wolf-chase through the pine ; forests of the north ; and not only this, 1 but to have opportunities of seeing life on terms the most intimate; that society should lie unvieled to an extent that few , men of any station can pretend to; to converse with the greatest and the wis est, the most distinguished in rank, age, and better than all, the most beautiful women of every land in Europe, who depend on your word, rely on your infor mation, and permit a degree of intimacy which in their own rank is unattainable; to improve your mind by knowledge of languages, acquaintance with works of art, scenery, and more still, by habits of, intelligence which habit bestows.” “And to do this,” said 1, burning with impatience at a picture that realized all | that I wished for, “to do this ” “Bea courier,” said thirty voices in a | cheer.—“ Vive la Grande Route,” and with the word each man drained his glass j to the bottom. “Vive la Grande Route,” exclaimed I, | louder than the rest; “and here I join I you.” From that hour I entered on a career that each day 1 follow is become dearer tome. It is true, 1 sit in the --nimble of the carriage, while monscigntvr or mv lord reclines within; but would 1 ex change his ennui and depression for my j own iight-heartedness and jollity ! would I give up the happiness and independ ence of all the intrigue and plotting ofo the world l enjoy, tor his rank and sta tion ? Does not Mount Blanc look as grand in his hoary panoply to me, as to him? -If 1 wander through the gallery; of Dresden have I not the sweet smile of j the great Raphael’s Madonna bent on me as blandly as it is on him ? Is not mine host, with less of ceremony, far | more cordial to me than to him ? Is not mine a rank known, and acknowledged; j in every town, in every village? Have | 1 not a greeting wherever l pass ? Shou cl sickness overtake me, where have 1 not a home ? Where am I among strangers? Then, what care I for the bill ?—mine is a royal route where 1 never nay. And lastly, how olten is the soubrette of the rumble as a companion as the P”’e c,'ucl care worn lady within? Such is my life. Many would scog and call it menial. Let them if they will. I never felt it so ; and once more I say, “Vive la Grand Route !” Progress of Catholism. —Tlie Alton [l!liuois]jTeJlegrapli of the fifth iiist. says —“There are four Roman Catholic churches in progress of erection or com pletion in this State at the present time, th;»t we know of; one at Chicago, one at Edwardsville, in the same county, mid one at Shawnetown.” Dr. Johnson,when in the fulness of yenrs and knowledge, said, “I never take tip a newspaper without finding something that I should have deemed it a loss not to have seen ; never without deriving from it instruction and amusement.” Many nien have become great through having first become little; you seldom see a man jump to any height, without stooping when he takes the ypring. From the Albaiiy (N. V) Argus. O’CONNELL AND BBOUGHAM. Brougham has been long noted for his ivage and unsparing sarcasm. Eng md’s greatest statesmen have writlied mder his shafts. Even Canning, who vielded the most polished irony of any uemberofthe British Parliament, dread d the gloomy and sarcastic Brougham. Phis literary magnate seems now to have iet with his match, in the person of Daniel O Connell. He retorts upon the Ex-Chancellor the coarseness and sever ity of manner, which the former has not always avoided in his personal denun ciations. We do not admire the taste of these exhibitions: but the Liberator seems to handle the bowie knife of sar casm with the gusto that shows that he likes the subject, and a cool ferocity that manifests an utter fearlessness of conse quences. At a Repeal meeting in Dublin, on the 11th of August, O'Connell observed that he could not close without adverting to that old worn out stump of a Brougham—the misera ble rotten remnant of what Brougham was—(laughter.) The poor old man had proposed a healing measure one day and abandoned it the next. He really thought it would he advisable to address the House of Lords, mid suggest that his lordship be requested M go to Father Mathew and take the pledge before he again addressed the house; then there might be some chance of his remaining consistent for a day or two, and not con tradicting himself—(cheers). But he (Mr. O’Connell) should spare the repor ters for tomorrow at Tara, and he would thereforefcinove that it be referred to the committee to consider whether there were any legal means of addressing the House of I .ords to request that Lord Brougham be compelled to take the pledge—(cheers and laughter.) The Ex Chancellor must wince When he reads that, or he lias lost all sensibil ity. To l>e stigmatized as a drunkard, in the presence of millions of people, is certainly not a comfortable resting place for an honorable posthumous fame. O’Connell at the same time, gave Wel lington a severe lunge. He dubbed him “the scolding old Duke,” with an inuen* do at his avarice and cruelty. Mr. O’Connell, after eulogising the peaceful movement of the masses, adver ted to the scolding old duke, who, he said, ought to tuqa good judge of plundering after the scenes he had taken a part in at Cuidad Rodrigo, Badajos, and St. Sebas tian, where rapine, murder, and every fiendish crime revel led untrammelled— (hear.) These atrocities were perpetra ted upon those whom England professed to defend. Well, what had the duke done? lie had threatened the people of Ireland, and they laughed at him. Ho next took to scolding, and he (Mr. O’Con nell) hoped he would continue at that— [a laugh.] o‘Connell, like all great" leaders, it seems, is a particular admirer of pretty fa ces, and with the tact of an experienced politician, he omits no opportunity to Hatter the Irish women, well knowing when he gains woman’s good will and j warm-hearted exertions, the Ball of Re- j peal will roll on with the power of an i avalanche. At Mountmellick, the Or angemen. instinctive haters of O’Connell, thought they would have their revenge, and mortify him in his most sensitive point. How think you they did this?— They simply hired seven ugly women to hiss him. This is sufficiently ludi crous to say the least. But the Liberator did not seem to relish this slight, and so, in his speech at Dublin, he gave it the following consequence: There are three or four old Orangemen in the town of Mountmellick, who wove actually obliged to get drunk in order to revive in their minds their former prej udices, and My if they con’d screw up their courage ton pitch sufficient to man ifest these prejudges by offering me some insult; but even though they did get drunk, ti'fey could not execute their pur- themselves. But what do you think Vncy did ? They went and hired seven of the ugliest women in the whole town, and placed them in a window near where I passed by, and there they hissed like old ganders, and made wry faces at me as if endeavoring to make themselves ug lier than they were—[laughter.] Now 1 solemnly declare that seven such ugly women I never saw before, and as five of them were young I Was astonished to think they could have found them in Ireland—[cheers and laughter.] They hissed and put out their tongues as I passed, and the tongue of a sucking calf with buttermilk on it could not bn uglier [continued laughter.] Well, in oppo sition to these seven ugly women. I place the thousands of handsome and lovely beings, who smiled upon us as we passed along, and I ask whether three or four drunken ornngemen and the seven ugly women had half as good a bargain of it as we had? Mahogany Furniture. —Spots on ma hogany furniture, says the Boston Mer cantile, caused by cologne water, or nl chohoi in any form, may be immediately removed, and the place turned to its orig inal color and beauty, by the application of a few drops of oil. We believe this to tea wre restorer. Try it! ;NO 22. From ilia CharlsstOfi Mercury. IMPORTANT LEGAL DECISION AT SAVANNAH The long pending cause of the late YV'm. Wight man of this city, against John J. Dewes, late sheriff of Chatham county, Ga, to recover a sum of money detained by the sheriff as fees of office, for dieting negroes ljvied upon by him, but not actually taken into custody, has, after many years, been concluded i>y his Honor Charles S. Henry, Judge of the Supe rior Court at Savannah. By this decree a nevv trial is refused, and the verdict of the jury given in May last affirmed. From the inijsjrtance of the main question involved, to the State of Georgia, the cas* became one of great interest. It was tried three times-the jury having twice made a mis-trial. The main point was—whet her a sheriff, levying on the negroes of a defendant, but not removing them, cr putting them in gaol, ran leg»lly eiact the per diem allowance given by law to jailers lor hlaek person* conlincd in jail—or is only to be allowed his actual disbursements. For the sheriff it was contended, that ~s he incurs the risk of escape, the diet fee is a compensation fur the hazard —but the reply was, that diet is not a premium of insurance—it is an equiva aiciit lor loud iurnished and is reimburse —and if no food is furnished, none shoulJ be paid for. That the custody of goods levied on is compensated by ths jioundago or per centage. The advocates of the sher iff contended, it was humane to permit the negroes to remain at home till the day of sale, but the sheriff would not do so, unless he received an equivalent; anil the wage had been to claim diet fees as a com pensation lor this act of humanity. It was replied that this was paying an extraordinary as well as ar bitrary price for an act of humanity—that a forthcom ing bund, when required, was sufficient security, and cost nothing. But the conclusive ground was ths statute of Georgia, |>o.4tively prohibiting any charge lor “services not rendered.” This law, faithfully enforced, was decisive. Some decisions, not well considered, had given countenance to the sheriffs in making this charge, which amounted in this case to between lour and five thousand dollars. But the Grand Jury or first tribunal under the laws of Geor gia, at last gave a decisive blow to the illegal prac tice. They rendered a verdi.t for the amount detain ed by the sheriff, and eight per cent, interest, the plaintiff' waiving the residue of the 20 percent, allow ed by law, against sheriff s. Various technical grounds, not affecting tile main question, wers urged, on a motion lor anew trial. But Judge Henry, in an elaborate opinion, overruled them all, and sustained tne verdict us legal and just. By the present ar rangement this opinion will be published by the Gov ernor, who collects and publishes all the decisions of the Judges, thus beginning a systematic report of de cided cases lor Georgia; and Judge Henry’s deere# will do him honor for its learning, its sound legal morality and the integrity with which he has carried out the wise provisions of the Legislature, in confin ing public officers to their exact and specified charge only. Such decisions must command the respect of the public, both at home and abroad, and especially is south Carolina interested, as our Southern fron tier connects our citizens intimately in the relations of business, and the decresss of Georgia Courts ars therefore important. In this case a citizen of South Catolina sued an officer of the Georgia Courts, in his own District, and the impartial and honorable bearing of tlie J ury and tlie Court, is in keeping with the character of our enlightened and high toned neighbors. Judge Henry’s opinion is too extensive for insertion in a daily paper, but it will be read in the reports as an elaborate and able disquisition of the points so thoroughly argued by the distinguished counsel of the sheriff. The case was conducted by Col. Hunt, of Charleston and Messrs. McAllister and Cohen, of Savannah, for the plaintiff—Wight man—and by thu lion. John M. Berrien and Judge Charlton for defendant, the sheriff. Although 'Geor gia has no Appeal Court, her admirable jury system, and the discretion of the Judge as to new trials, ob viate much of tlie difficulties arising front that source. South Carolina has partially adopted the principle of objecting to the jury. In South Carolina each party set abiJe two. In Georgia, appeals are heard by a stitick or select jury—drawn from the Grand Jury. Ibe whole pamiel i presented anil the parties alter nately stoke off one, until ’out twelve remain, who constitute Ge jury—thus each party throws off any obnoxious individual and an impartial p&nnel is se cured. 1 lie requiring the Judge ;o sen J his opinions to tho Governor to be printed, will collect a body of legal decisions and gradually harmonize into a system. T he very difficulty of tire problem what constitutes a proper Appeal Court in the last resort 1 has delayed any action so far, still Georgia has now a bettor basis to work upon than our own State, which still pre sents the absurdity of tiro Coprts of final appellate jurisdiction, sating at tiie same lime. The U. State* system with the Georgia plan of struck Juries, would embody more advantages—and fewer objection able features than any other. The. perfect want of prin ciple in leaving each of our Appeal Courts at liberty to decide whether the unsuccessful party shall b« allowed to go to the Court of Errors, defeats all the objects of that tribunal. Each. Court is jealous of calling in the ot'in —and so cases only reach the high est tribunal ujxvn compulsion. A CAROLINA LAWYER. A costly TRorirv. —\Vc find tire following in one of Mr. Weed’s Letters from England: The dining ball at Chelsea hospital is hang with trophy colors and standards, from the Duke of Marl boro's victorious battle of Blenheim, to the inglorious butcheries of the British army in China. Among these emblems of British valor, arc the sanguinnr; evidences that England has been at war with almost all the nations of the cartli. There are threo stand: ot American colors displayed in the hall. One w: = taken at Washington. I could not learn the history of the other two : but an old veteran, who heard no - inquiring, came up and remarked that he heard > pensioner, who was in the fight when one of tin ■ was taken, say 11 that stand of colors cost more Brit Bit blood than any other stand of colors in the ha'. There is nothiug very mortifying in seeing two . ibre* captive American Eagles, with “ E Pluri TJnum’’ in a scroll suspended from their beaks,; vided there is neither dishonor nor cowardice unit' 1 with their caplure. And, if it were otherwise, should be indemnified by the reflection that, in!'.* wa. of trophies, we can display ten times thenti' - be of British colors, flags, cannon, and ships of a r -r. wJerices of American valor and prowess. Wh. i the devil was sick, the devil & saint would hr, Vkon the devil Was well, the devil a faint wkslit.