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EDITED BY THOMAS HAYNES.
VOL. V. NO. .VO.
BY I*. L. ROBINSON, Slate Printer.
And Publisher (by authority) of (he Lairs of the f.'nited Slate.
Issued f.veri Tuesday morning.
KT TERMS. —Three Dollars per nnnnm. No Mibseriplion taken for lose than a
year, and no paper discontinued, but nt the option of the publisher, until all urrenr
•£e» are paid.
CHANGE OF DIRECTION.—We desire such of our subscribers ns may at any
ihn wish the direction of their papers changed from one Post Other to another, to
nform tt«, in nil eases, of the place to which they had been previously sent; us the
mere order to forward them to a different oilier, places it almost out of our power to
comply, because we hate no means of ascertaining the oilier from which they are
ordered to be changed, but by a search through our whole subscription book, con
taining several thousand names.
ADV ERTISEMENTS inserted at the usual rates. Sales of LAND, by Admi
nistrators. Executors, er Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tues
day in the month, Ik'tween the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the county in which the property is situate. Notice of
these sales must be given in a public gazette SIXTY DAYS previous to the day of
sale.
Sales of NEGROES must beat public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month
between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county where the
letters testimentary, of Administration or Guardianship, inny have been granted, first
giving SIXTY DAYS notice thereof, in one of the public gazettes of this State,
and at th>‘door of the Court House w here such sales are to be held.
Notice tor the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner, FORTY
DAYS previous to the day of silo.
Notice io the Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published FORTY
DAYS.
Notice that application w ill be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell
LAND, must be published for FOL'R MONTHS.
Notice for leave to sell NEGROES, must be published for FOUR MONTHS
before any order absolute shall be made by the Court thereon.
Notice ot Application lor Letters of Administration must be published THIRTY
DAYS.
Notice ot Application for Letters of Dismission from the Administration of an Es
•te, are required to be published monthly for SIX MONTHS.
AW APPEAL
TO THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE OF GEORGIA.
FREEDOM OF THE PRESS is a right guaranteed by the Con
stitution or the State of Georgia; and the Federal compact was not
agreed on until this sacred privilege was inserted in the Constitution of
the United States. This great principle has been invaded on a recent
occasion, in a manner at once shameful and unprecedented ; and this
appeal is made to the Citizens of Georgia, for the purpose of obtaining
in a signal manner, their reprobation of a most daring outrage on the
Fbkedo.m of the Press.
Already has that mighty engine—the most powetful agent of civiliza- ;
tinn—scattered far and wide the humiliating fact, that the life of an Ed
itor of an independent Newspaper was attempted to bo taken—that ef
forts were made to burn his house, and destroy his property —because ;
he asserted his right to express his opinions; and did so, fully and fear- I
lessly. Already has it been pt omulgated from the Atlantic to the Pa
cific—from Maine to Florida—that such nefarious deeds were done, and
that the laws could not reach the perpetrators —that they defied the eon
•tituted authorities. Humbling as this is, it is, alas! too title. Thus,'
at once, was all law, human and divine, trampled under foot; and an
archy and confusion permitted to lord it over right mid justice! And
already is it known fiotn one eml of this Union to the other, that these
outrages occurred io Geotgia ! Yes—these disgraceful transactions took |
place in Georgia ! In high-minded, chivalrous Georgia, it was that a
gang of desperadoes—many of them bankrupt in fortune as w ell as char- I
neter—violated the laws, and endeavored to destroy that palladium of I
the liberties of our country—that richest jewel in the virgin zone of free- '
dom—an Independent Press. But, thanks be to God ! the conspirators, |
the authors and abettors of these deeds were not natives of Georgia— ■
saw of them were even Americans ; yet they have “ a local habitation
and a name” (?) in the city where we write.
It will be asked, what were the causes assigned by those who acted
in the manner we deset ibe? Were the institutions or liberties of the
country abused by the Editor ? Did he, without just reason, interfere
with the course pursued by private persons? Did he ever refuse personal
■atisfaclion to any man ? In fine, was he countenanced in a course of
injustice and tyranny, by powerful or wealthy individuals? Or, were
his crimes such that the laws of the land could not reach, and punish
him. To all these queries may be answered au emphatic NO ! Mob 1
Jaw. however, was pat in requisition.
The Darien Telegraph has been a firm and uncompromising sup- ■
porter of the principles of the Union Party of Georgia—a stern op oser
all schemes to establish a National Bank—a follower of the maxims laid
down by Thomas Jefferson—and a bold and unflinching advocate of
that reform which can alone be accomplished by a divorce of Bank and
State.
Those who have read the paper know that it is conducted on truly in
dependent principles—that it speaks of men and things as they are, re
gardless of consequences. And it is for these reasons, and for strenu
ously advocating these measures, that its Editor has been persecuted
with malignant hate, by men to whom honor is but a name, and justice
but a figure of speech
The people of this Republic, generally speaking, are sensitively alive
to any proceedings that may have even a tendency to deprive them of
those blessings for which a\\ ashington conquered—a Montgomery, a
Warren, bled. I low, then, must their bosoms swell with indignation
to hear that the vety altar of the Temple of Freedom itself h is been
desecrated—that the hands of unholy and unsanctified staves have defiled
it. That, in short, a free press, a sentinel on the watch tower of Lib
erty, has been surrounded by the enemy, and endeavored to bo destroyed
by numbers ? To a portion then, of that people—the Citizens of Geor
gia. one of the oldest of that gallant band that breasted tyranny and
oppression in the days “that tried men’s souls”—to the enlightened
Citizens of Georgia we confidently .appeal, for that justice—that pro
tection. which is denied us by tho-c w ho persecute us , and w ould de
prive us of that freedom of opinion which is the birthright of man.
Our government is one of opinion—not of force. We have no
standing armies, ready to carry the laws of our Commonwealth into ef
fect. even nt the point of the bayonet. Hence it is that all good citizens
cheerfully submit to the mandates of our Courts of Justice—that no man
who has the good of his country atheart will defy the law. Indeed, the
man who does not bow Io the majesty of the law, is looked mt as a trai
tor to the Republic—as one whose life is without value.
It is, however, to he regretted that the principles we have just de
scribed, do not find n response in the brer.st of every man calling him
«elf an American citizen. If they did, our present task would be
spared. Rome had her Cataline and herSYLLA—and, alas! too much
4>f the leaven of their bad spit it is yet in existence.
The time has come now for freemen to say, w hether the Press shall
ire FREE, or whether it shall be enslaved—wheteer it shall be subservient
to a few. or he rendered beneficial to all ? We w ill not insult the intel
ligence of our readers, by portraying the benefits which not alone the
present generation, hut even posterity must derive from the benign in
fluence of a free and unshackled Press. They are numerous ami ap
parent. On the other hand, that Ptess which is under the baneful t itle
of dictation—w hether that dictation proceeds from the imperial decrees
of an autocrat, or the less dignified desires of a few petty commission
merchants, is alike useless and powerless. It is the Upas in whatever
neighborhood it is tolerated—w ithering and destroying every vestige of
liberty and independence. But no soil in America, we are proud to
aay, is favorable to its growth—it may for a time endure a stunted ex
istence, but the clear air of freedom, at length, blasts and prostrates it
forever.
The Da rien Telegraph has suffered for the independence expres
sed in its columns. Efforts arc being made to annihilate it. Those
who formerly sustained it by advertising patronage, have been forced
lo relinquish the advantage it affords, by the dread of being mobbed;
.and many of its subscribers have been entreated, commanded, or coaxed,
as was thought most politic, to stop their subscriptions. Some have
been weak enough to obey those w ho would earn laurels in persecuting
the Press; but we rejoice that many treated them with the contempt
jhey deserve. Every exertion is making to put down the paper; and.
iiuicm the friends of liberty, of order, and of law, will step forward, and
frown upon such unexampled persecution, the enemies of humanity
and ofjustiee will triumph. But this appeal will not he made in vain ;
and the following mode is suggested of successfully combatting the de
signs of the foes of the Press
I IRST—Let every person who at present subscribes to The Tele
graph. endeavor to get one (or more) new subscriber.
SECOND—Lot all who w ish to patronize mi independent newspa
per, subscribe for The Telegraph, without delay-
I hus will it be, shown that the people of G -i-rgia are attached to lib-
P r jy> and will triumphantly sustain those who bstltlc ip her cause. Thus
w ill a death blow be given to the machinations of such au would trani-
P , <’f the Press—the bulwark of freedom.
rhe Editor of that paper will make an effort, to see his fellow citizens
throughout Bic State, at their own doors, before long ; and he com
mences his journey on this day to Milledgeville, to explain orally, to all
who may choose to listen, the many wrongs he has endured.
~ „ CORNELIUS MACARDELL.
Darien, Ga., Nov. 27, 1838.
Wilson, charged with robbing the Express Mail last summer in
entucky, has been sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment in the
1 emtcutiary.—TV. <). Picayune..
Still /• tilling^— l’hc Cumberland wax still falling on the Ist insl.
July thirty inches water on Ilarpeth Shoals. The steamer Home
dry goods 011 ,hc3 W> Nov. freighted with a large stock of
river 1, 0r..m h , "v Co ' for ,lime lying in the bed of the
nravine f r-” ‘ ' W la., is about being abandoned as “past
praying for, so says the Cincinnati .News.—//>,
llitoniwi* of f||wtu
«homu, Tuesday iuoßniiiv«, janvary, s, isas.
MISCELLANEOUS,
NEW-YORK AND BOSTON.
A writer in the Londoa Sporting Magazine Cor October bits
off’, in a pleasant and vivacious style, the prominent character
istics of the two great Atlantic cities.
The “ empire city,” as vanity has named New-York, is pla
ced on the island of Manhattan, one of the pleasantest spots of
nature, spoiled by the perversion and impertinence of art; its
sweet succession of hill and dale, have long since been levelled
by the city surveyor. Down two of its sides run the Hudson
and East rivers, which, in their continence at the Battery,
spread out ami form the fine expanse of New-York bay, the is
land being separated from the main land of New-York State
merely by a small brook or connecting branch between its two
i great w ater boundaries. On the Long Island shore of the East
river, the city ol Brooklyn fronts that of New-York; and on
i the New-Jersey shore of the Hudson stands Jersey city, with
i the little village of Coinmunipaw, worthy of note, as being the
'egg from whence New-York first sprung, but now only cele
brated lor the superior excellence of its clams and negro fid
j dlers.
Had a choice been left to me, I should have preferred an
opening view ol New-York, under circumstances somewhat
more favorable to a first impression, thana ride in a street-hack
over the bone-breaking pavement of Broadway, with a pano
ramic display of the streets by gas-light. But' 1 came in by
night, and then, like all new-comers into strange cities, as my
light vehicle jumped to and Iro, 1 strained my eyes in vain, en
deavoring to catch some glimpses ol the strange novelties
which, as I supposed, I iy “ perdu” every where around me ;
; but all that the steadiest attention could make out was com
pt ised in a few gas-lamps, green trees, and gaudy awnings; a
lootway on either side of a narrow street, alive with a mixed
population, black and while, mostly with cigars in their mouths.
The intermediate space of rough and rickety road being filled
up with an indescribable confusion of carts, hacks, carriages,
and four-horse omnibuses, one and all with uninterrupted row
and uproar, fulfilling the varied avocations of their calling, as
I each held on ibe “ noisy tenure of their way.”
Supper and bed were naturally the almost instant conse
quences of an arrival at eleven o’clock at the mammoth among
hotels, the Astor House ; but June was not a month for closed
windows; and as 1 had the privilege of a front room, all the
j din of Broadway came in at my uppermost ear, while a gentle
■ buzzing hum in the neighborhood of my nose warned me of the
near approach of a murderous misquito. However, fatigue
at length effectually closed my eyes, and 1 had just fallen into
the first of my sleep, when the clang of a multitude of bells,
and a shouting, as from a crowd of speaking trumpets, broke I
in upon my rest, and made me start up in a state of dreamy I
alarm. 1 hastened to my window, which looked out upon the
corner of a large green,'called the Park, where the two main
avenues of the city, Broadway and Bowery', unite. Down I
these two streets the people rushed in crowds, tearing, scam- I
pering, and hallooing as if for dear life ; while the cracked bell i
on the top of the City-Hall repeated three distinct strokes, at 1
close intervals; and forthwith all the church bells chimed in
chorus, and every steeple clattered its utmost. Then again, ;
more people shouted and ran, and thus things went on for a i
considerable length of lime. At last a little green spot of fire
appeared far tip the Bowery; and, as it gradually grew in
size, the trampling of a crowd, and roll of heavy wheels, were |
heard, and then a voice rose high above the uproar, crying
“fire! fire! fire!” And now a red light and another crowd,
and sound of wheels rushed down Broadway, and other voices j
echoed “where? where? where?” “ Corner of Cedar,”
shouted Green, and in a moment two engines, drawn by men,
tackled together, two and two, rattled past at full speed, each
man straining every nerve with eagerness for the honor of his
troop to be the first at the scene of action. After these came
more trumpetings, more shoutings, more lamps of various col- |
ors, and more rattling engines; and the night was far advanced j
before silence succeeded to a scene of noisy confusion, which,
by a constant recurrence to the amount of twelve weekly
throughout the year, has gained for New-York the glowing ap
pellation of the City of Fires.
I certainly do not like New-York. I cannot endure the in- !
ccssant noise, the whirling bustle, and disorderly confusion, !
which reign throughout the city, from the Battery point up to '
five-lmndred-and-filty-fourth-street, or thereabouts, whether it
be dreary winter, when the horses go slipshod, and Jack Frost
blows his nose between two icicles; or midsummer, when the
thermometer is at ninety-five in the shade, and the mosquitoes
lie listlessly panting about ; or autumn, when the leaves fall un
til the fall leaves; orspring—pleasant spring—when trees are
budding, and stilts are indispensable to keep your ankles out
ol theinud. Everybody thinks, speaks, and acts with the ex
treme of hurry. Perchance you are strolling along the ill-con
ditioned slips and piers of the East river, where, from the variety
ol tongues, all in full vigor and active exercise, you might ea
sily picture to yourself the scene in the front of the Tower of
Babel at the moment when the bricklayers first struck work for
the want of a circulating medium of speech. Here you per
ceive a friend afar of], in the street, closing upon you with
frightful velocity, w hile the crowd almost carries you off your
legs toward him ; you have something of importance to commu
nicate, and as he approaches a smile of recognition lights up
his countenance. Another moment, and you incline towards
him—a wave ol the hand—a nod of the head, and he whisks
by—you turn with the intention of pursuit—the ends of his
coat-tad are disappearing round the next cornes—he is gone.
Long and vainly have I looked to find some person in a gentler
“ walk” of life ; but they all run alike, and it is quite a picture
to see the usually tranquil old quakers going ahead full tilt,
tearing up this street and down that—skipping over crates, and
baskets, and bales, with the agility of practised harlequins,
and always under full headway ; the body bent forward to ac
celerate their speed, and their coat-lappets stuck straight out
behind, and fluttering in the wind like-tails as they’ scurry on.
New-York is a very fair sporting station, and some good
snooting may be found near at hand ; up the Hudson lies some
eScelh nt wild-fowl and woodcock ground, and some deer may
still be found in the northern parts of Long Island ; Long Is
land, too, is famed for its trouling ; and hundreds of streams,
! flowing down the retired valleys into the Hudson, afford excel
lent sport to the disciples of worthy Izaak.
The turf, too, is fieely kept up by the New-York Jockey
Club. The Centreville Course is devoted to the amateurs of
irotting-matches ; and pigeon shooting is practised, together
with many other minor sports, in and about the neighborhood
of the “ Third Avenue.”
The “ Third Aventie” is an outward-bound street, leading
from the unfinished districts of New-York somewhere into the
middle of the next century, when it is expected the city will have
extended its limits beyond the present bounds, and go on some
i where out of town ; and on the Third Avenue it is that the
young “ Gothamite swells” meet daily, in order to display the
! superior qualities of their trotters. Here, towards the close of
I the evening, little scattered clouds of dust may be seen whirl
ing tip the road al intervals, as a few early comers clatter away
in the direction of ILwdaem. Soon the numbers begin gradu
ally to increase, and the dust to thicken, until by the time that
the sultry he.it of the summer’s day has yielded to the refresh
ing influence of the sea-breeze, the scene becomes in the high
est degree lively and interesting. At one moment, a light
New-York wagon, a mere square box upon four wheels, spins
past, following two bob-tail bays with a motion at once so swift,
so light ami elegant, that it scorns scarcely to rest on the ground.
Then comes a clattering of many heels, accompanied by a hard
running sound, and a rushing cloud of dust, all tokens of an
amateur “ briub,” or trial of speed, while the outlines of two
slightly built sulkies, and two motionless men, just give a pas
sing glimpse, so faint and indistinct that it would be “ marty
dill’cult,” as the negroes say, “to tell t’other from which.”—
But now comes on a steady old respectable, rolling behind a
j raw-boned heavy-looking black—his harness dingy and brown,
' the vehicle dull and dirty, and the whole “ turn-out” so utterly
Our Costscienre—Our Country—Our l*arty.
drowsy-looking and melancholy, that one is almost induced to
pity the poor old creatures as they creep along.
Anon, a distant roll, and whiz, and clatter, and up dashes a
“ superior swell,” seated in a glossy green sulky, behind a
high-going grey, bearing hard upon his driver’s hand, and
evidently trying the strength of the highly-polished harness.—
The latter soon catches up old creeper, and instantly gettiflD
a tight pull upon the gray, brings him to follow exactly in the
other’s track. The bard road is just wide enough for two, and
Steady accordingly edges off to let the grey goby, but he keeps
on at the same pace until the black, by slackening, drops back
upon him. And now they' are rolling on side-by-side, the grey
pulling “ heaps,” aud the black, from long habit, mottling and
mending his pace at the approach of an antagonist; the old
“dull” pulls his nag in, but the grey will not leave him, at one
moment loitering alongside, the next going a “ leetle” ahead
and then just falling back again, as if to lure him on, and tempt
him to a trial ofspeed. Therwseat last appears to succeed,
the black begins to step out, and the grey does the same ; un
til bis master suddenly losing the reign, gives him his head,
and oft’he goes. A new spirit now seems suddenly to come
over the old man, and bending his body forward, he shakes the
reins and shouts to the bony black ; at the word he starts, and
in another moment has recovered his ground, and runs along
side his opponent; the struggle now begins in earnest, and at
first the polished harness and the painted body appears to be
somewhat in advance, but the old man is getting angry, and
the good black, as if aware that he both can and must take
twenty extra seconds off the mile, strains every nerve, and in
less time than than has been occupied in the recital, the dusky
old couple are seen clattering on victorious and alone, while
Swell pullsup the defeated grey, in order to avoid the ignom
inious salute of his departing adversary’s cloud of dust. This
is a scene of constant recurrence; and after its enactment, the
rivals usually meet at “ Cato’s,” a resort of much celebrity,
some four miles from the city, where drinks of infinite variety
and aptitude to the then existent temperature, are administered
by' the renowned philosopher, in propriapersona.
To “ Bosting,” as the Yankees term their solid metropolis,
I give the precedence among the Atlantic cities, —not that it is
the pleasantest, nor the most picturesque, nor the most impor
tant in sporting, or, indeed in any other point of view, but sim
ply because it is the first, as being the “farthest north,” and
foremost in its application of the go-a-head system in such a
manner, and to such effect, as to obtain the honorable appella
tion of “ the City of Notions.” In’Boston and the regions
round about, die earliest settlers squatted, and thence their
children first “ absquattulated” to seek and bring to light the
hidden wealth and beauties of the western wilderness. Boston
was the first town that came out “quite” against the mother
country ; and at Bunker Hill the first blood was drawn. Bos
ton established the first canal, the first railroad, and the first
passable “turnpike.” The first trotting-matches in the States
took place in New-England; and upwards of twenty-five years
ago the traveller on the road between Boston and Portland, a
distance of one hundred and twenty' miles, must have beea sur
prised to see horses not above fifteen hands high, drawing heavy
carriages with nine passengers inside, at the rate ofeight or ten
miles an hour, and accomplishing the journey in the course of
the day, a feat which would hardly be equalled now. New-
York has now entered into the lists, and has her trotters and
trotting-matches also; but the New-England and Vermont
roadsters still worthily sustain their former reputation ; and
eight years ago, (in the fall of 1830,) the Boston grey “Burst
er” trotted “fair and square,” as the Yankee phrase has it, one
mile in two minutes and thirty-two seconds.
The Bostonians are somewhat altered for the better since the
days of their earlier settlement, if truth sides at all with Diedrich
Knickerbocker, the renowned chronicler of New-York, by
whom they are designated as “ infamous thieves, a parcel of
corn-fed peddling squatters ! a pack of lazy, louting, dram
drinking, horse-racing, cock-fighting, slave-driving, mulatto
breeding upstarts !” For now there is not, to my knowledge,
a race-course anywhere in New-England, while' Boston can
boast of a most respectable and v-ell-behaved community,almost
bordering upon the drowsy. Thanksgiving, feast, fast, and
festival, are still sustained with due observance ; and geese,
salt fish, and pumpkin pies vigorously eaten at the appointed
seasons. The municipal regulations of the city, too, are un-;
usually strict and well kept ; —all vagabond dogs crossing the '
paths of public justice are incontinently knocked on the head
for not reading and heeding the corporation warning, stuck
upon the parish pumps, and headed with the striking caption
—“ Dogs ! dogs ! ! dogs !! !” And even yet more wonder
ful to relate in the native climes of “ the weed,” a fine of two I
dollars is imposed and exacted from every person convicted of
the sin of smoking “ principees” in the public streets; while,
as tegards dram-drinking, the temperate citizens restrict them
selvee within the wholesome limits of discreetly mixed iniiit-jti
lep,jgg-nog, brandy-go, and gin-sling. All that need be said
of Boston, in addition, may be summed up in a few words.—
The city is heavy ; the houses solid ; churches and eating
shops plenty ; climate variable; roads hard; horses good;
coaches fast; citizens sea serpentish ; the cemetery sad; the
locale interesting ; and the Bunker Hill monument a fine study,
but altogether wanting in the bump of completiveness.
Maxims of Bishop Middleton. —Persevere against dis
couragements. Keep your temper. Employ your leisure in
study, and always have sonic work on hand' Be punctual
and methodical in business, and never procrastinate. Never
be in a hurry. Preserve self-possession, and do not be talked
out. of conviction. Rise early—be an economist of time.—
Maintain dignity, without the appearance of pride ; manner is
something with every body, and every thing with some. Be
guarded in discourse; attentive and slow to speak. Never ac
quiesce in immoral or pernicious opinions. Be not forward to
assign reasons to those who have no right to ask. Think
nothing in conduct unimportant and indifferent. Rather set
than follow example. Practice strict temperance ; and in all
your transactions, remember the final account.
POULTRY.
“ She that won’t stoop to pick a pin,
Shu’nt stoop to pick a bigger tiling.”
1’ or many years past, there has been a great demand for
poultry and eggs, at high prices, and it seems likely to contin
ue ; for the causes which produced it are still in operation, and
are likely to continue and increase. The increase of steam
boat and railroad travelling in our country has produced an in
creased demand for all the luxuries of the table, beyond the cur
rent means of supply at moderate prices; it therefore becomes
the interest of farmers to devote a little more attention to pro
ducing those articles which always sell readily, and at good
prices, particularly as the labor connected with' the rearing of
poultry, if labor it can be called, can be performed by the
younger members of a family, without infringing on the time
devoted to the more important labor offarming. It is an agree
able relaxation if engaged in a right spirit, and has connected
with it many pleasant associations.
It should be the care of those who engage in the busi
ness of rearing poultry on a large scale, to study sound
economy in feeding them, otherwise they may be disappointed
in the expected profit. With some there is great carelessness
and waste apparent, particularly in feeding with food of a more
expensive character thtfti is necessary. Having seen large
quantities of poultry raised and fattened for market principally
on boiled potatoes, I take the liberty ofdirecting the girls, who
are your readers to it; hoping that daily, when'they boil pota
toes for family use, they will put enough in the pot, over and
above what may be necessary for the family, to feed the chickens
till the next day, and so continue it from day to day, occasion
ally alternating it with other kind of food for a relish, and dc
pendupon it, you will find that “ a penny saved is two pence
earned.”— Farmers' Cabinet.
WOMAN.
A crabbed acquaintance of ours has just repeated to us,
“ b railty, thy name is woman.” We were trying to get him
to call with its on a very beautiful lady of our acquaintance.—
Tie is a scholar, a wit, and a gentleman, andyet dares to repeat
that villainous line in our hearing. Alas for him ! we fear be
is past redemption. We cannot conceive why the fair sex have
been so often villified. We declare it unjust, and we enlist our
selves in their defence; notwithstanding that Virgil has said—
“ Woman always various and changeable”—and Shakspeare,
“Frailty, thy name is woman.”
A oman is not more variable than man. Her constancy has stood
the test of fire and blood, and torment in a thousand instances,
and shall she be called fickle ? We verily believe that woman’s
friendship is infinitely more disinterested*, infinitely more pure
titan man’s. She will follow Iter lover through weal and woe
—--through evil report and good report—through sorrow and
misery and death. She will love him in his sin, and in his
glory ; in his shame, and in bis degredation ; and she will bind
him the closer to her heart, as he falls the lower. Will man do
so ? No—let bul the breath of evil report dim the brightness
of the pure name ol that being whom he loves, let her sin but
once, and be will forsake her forever. Will he love her in
abuse and ill treatment ? But suppose she coquet, and trifle
with the affections of the worthy? Has she not been taught
by example ? How many hearts have broken and bled when
forsaken by man? How many women have given their whole
affections away, and poured out their whole hearts upon a lover
and then been forsaken ? How often have attentions been of
fered to gratify vanity, and to please pride ? How often ? al
as ! who shall answer the question?
Household Affections. —What a blessing is the human
heart! How like the fire of the vestals it keeps its pure and
perpetual burning in the bosom of man ! Mysterious cement
of the sou]! Affection clings to us for no season, but blossom
ing in infancy, it hath not yet put forth all its leaves, when the
verge of death has narrowed its limits. It goes with us from
the cradle to the grave—smiles in the eyes of childhood, man
tles the cheek of mature years, and trembles with joy in the
breast of decaying life. Its purity is unquestioned, for it never
deceives ; and it rolls floods of happiness over the soul of him
that loves it. Affections are as charities in the life of man—
they master passions, confer dignity on our nature, take hatred
from the heart, give freshness and vigor to sociality, and guard
us and guide us from wandering. They bless us with numer
ous kind offices, console us in affliction, make joyful in adver
sity, superadd pleasantness to our pleasure, and throw roses in
our path if it be gloomy.
BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT.
Ihe glory of summer is gone by—the beautiful greenness
lias become withered and dead. Were this all—were there no
associations of moral desolation—of faded hopes—of hearts
withering in the bosom of the living—connected with the de
caying scenery around us, we would not indulge in a moment’s
melancholy. The season of the flowers will come again—the
stream will flow gracefully and lightly as before—the trees will
again toss their cumbrous load of greenness to the
sunlight—and, by mossy stone and winding rivulet, the young
blossoms will start up, as at the bidding oftheir fairy guardians.
But the human heart has no change like that of nature. It has
no second spring-time. Once blighted in its hour of freshness,
it wears forever the mark of the spoiler. The dews of affection
may fall, and the gentle rains of sympathy be lavished upon it—
but the sore root ofblighted feeling will never again waken into
life—nor the crushed flowers of hope blossom with their wonted
beauty.
From the Neto York Journal of Commerce.
APALACHICOLA RIVER.
Commerce on this river is getting into very bad repute here.
I he premium of insurance on propel tv transported upon it which
was once halt of one per cent., has been put up to three per cent,
and it is not certain that at that high rate much insurance could be
effected. Ihe difficulty is not the discovery of any new intricacies
of navigation, or natural difficulties of any sort, but dissatisfaction
with the manner in which property is managed by those who have it
in charge. Losses sustained long ago, when property was sold for the
benefit ol all concerned, are some of them not yet adjusted; but the
little amounts due to those who bad otherwise lost all, are retained
by the owners or masters of steamboat, who ate yet men of property
and who pass as respectable in the communities around them. Some
recent losses have been managed in a very unsatisfactory manner.
It is reported that the cargo of the steamer Tempest, which cost
some $30,000, was sold by the captain, against the protest of the
accredited agent for the underwriters, for $750, —the clerk of the
boat being the purchaser. It became necessaiy to employ the U. S.
Marshal to seize the cargo. The underwritershave paid a total loss
on two cargoes by one boat, and we believe the boat is still not lost.
Not a great while ago, we are told, a steamer loaded with cotton got
aground. A time was fixed for the sale of the cargo. At the hour
appointed a northern cotton buyer was present, but he was told that as
only one other person was there to bid, it was not deemed proper to
proceed with the sale. He went away, and within an hour the car
go was knocked off to the other person, (he being connected with the
boat,) at three cents a pound. The cotton was really but very little
damaged and was probably worth twelve cents at least. So it would
seem that the difficulty was not, that two persons were too few to
compose an auction company, but too many. These are samples of
many transactions which have distinguished the Apalachicola* river
from all the other Southern rivers, ot rivers any whereon this Conti
nent. \\ hatever may have been the real motives in the various ca
ses, the transactions were exceedingly unfair, and give abundant rea
son lot the worst suspicions. If practices ot this sort are permitted
by the people in the neighborhood to be continued, (for we cannot
control them here J it is evident that they furnish such strong induce
ments to dishonejty, that men, however honest themselves, will
scarcely be trusted, lest the temptation should be too strong for their
virtue.
The subject is of much more importance to the people whose im
ports and exports pass upon the river, than it is to the citizens of N.
York, or any other portion of the country. Cotton will not bring a
fraction more in any market becausa it has encountered great risks
or been protected by heavy expenses. The mischief, therefore,
though at first it may fall on underwriters and dealers at a 'distance,
will ultimately fall on the planters and consumers. Their cotton
will be worth its value in market, less the charges and lair calcula
tions of profit, and the goods they import will be enhanced in price
by the reverse operation of the same rule. So it need not be sup
posed that these losses are to come out of Northern men. It will
take more safe voyages to restore a good reputation, than it has
taken ofbad voyages to run it down ; and all these must be paid for
at a high rate, so that very likely the underwriters will in the end
come out safe. The merchants of Columbus have a great stake in
this matter. Two and a half per cent each way on all the business
of a town, is quite enough to give rival places a great advantage in
the trade. So having given them what we deem a suitable warning,
we must leave them to take care of their own affairs, and bring back
their river to the rank and reputation of other rivers, by such meas
ures as in their wisdom they nitty deem best.
A VISIT TO NEVVGAT.
From sketches bi/ Boz.
The Condemned Cell.— We entered the first cell. It was a
stone dungeon, eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at
the further end, under which was a common horse rug, a bible
aud prayer-book, an iron candlestick was fixed into the wall
at the side ; and a small high window in the back admitted as
much air and light as could struggle in between a double row
of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture
of any description.
Conceive the situation of a man,—spending his last night on
earth in this cell.— Buoyed up with some vague and unrefined
hope ol reprieve, he knew not why—indulging in some wild
and visionary idea of escaping, he kenw not how, hour after
hour o| the three preceding days allowed him for preparation,
has fled with a speed which no man living would deem possi
ble, for none but this dying man can know.—He has wearied
his friends with entreaties, exhausted the attendants with impor
tunities, neglected in his feverish restlessness the timely’ warn
ings of bis spiritual consoler, and now that the illusion is at
last dispelled, now that certainty is before him and guilt be
hind, now that his fears of death amount almost to madness,
and an overwhelming sense of his helpless state rushes upon
him, he is lost aud stitpified, and has neither thoughts ly turn
to, nor power to call upon an almighty being, from whom
alone he can seek mercy and forgiveness and before whom
his repentance alone can avail.
Hours have glided by, and still lie sits upon the same stone
1». L. ROIIINSON, PROPRIETOR.
bench with folded arms heedless alike of the fast decreasing
time before him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man
at his side. 'I he feeble light is wasting gradually, and the
death like stillness of the street without, bioken only by the
rumbling of some passing vehicle which echoes mournfully
through the empty yards warns him that the night is waning
fast away^ —The deep bell of St. Paul’s strikes—one! He
heard it; it has roused him. Seven hours left! He paces
the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of
terror starling on his forehead and every musele of his frame
quivering with agony. Seven hours ! He suffers himself to
be led to his seat, mechanically' takes the bible which is placed
in bis hand, and tries to read and listen. No : his thoughts
will wander. The book is tore and soiled by use—how like
the book he read bis lessons in at school just forty’ years ago I
He has never bestowed a thought upon it since he left it a
chid, and yet the place, the time, the room—nay, the very
boys he played with crowd as vividly before him as if tliey
were scenes of yesterday; and some forgotten phrase, some
childish word of kindness, rings in his ears like the echo of
one uttered but a moment since. The deep voice of the cler
gyman recalls him to himself. He is reading from the sacred
book its solemn promises of pardon for repentance, and its
awful denunciation of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees
and claps his hands, topray. Hush!—what sound is that?
He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark !—two
quarters have struck ;—the third—the third—the fourth. It
is ! Six hours left. Tell him not of repentance for eight
times six years of guilt and sin! He buries his face in his
hands, and throws himself on the bench.
Worn with watching and excitement, lie sleeps, and the same
unsettled state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insup
portable load is taken from his breast, he is walking with his
wife in a pleasant field, with the bright blue sky above them
and a fresh and boundless prospect on every side—how differ
ent from the stone walls of Newgale ! She is looking—not as
she did when he saw her for the last time in that dreadful place,
hut as she used when he loved her—long, long ago, before
misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and vice had
changed his nature, and she leaning upon his arm with tender
ness and affection—and he does not strike her now, or rudely
shake her from him. And oh ! how glad he is to tell her lie
had forgotten in that last hurried interview, and to fall upon
his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon for all
the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke
her heart ! Ihe scene suddenly changes. He is on trial again :
there are the gudge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses,
just as they were before. How full the court is --what a sea a
head—with a gallows, too, and a scaffold—and how these peo
ple stare at him! Verdict, “ Guilty.” No matter he will es
cape.
I lie night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open,
and in an instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of
hts imprisonment, like the wind. The streets are cleared, the
open fields are gained, and the broad wide country lies before
him. Onward he dashes in the midst of darkness, over hedge
and ditch, through mud and pool, bounding from spot to spot
with a speed and lightness astonishing even to himself. At
length he pauses ; he must be safe from pursuit now ; be will
stietih himself on that bank and sleep there (ill sunrise.
A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes cold and
wretched ; the gray dull light of morning is stealing into the
cell, and falls upon the form of the attendant. Confused by
Insdieams, he starts from his uneasy bed in a momentary un
certainty. It is but momentary. Every' object in that nar
row cell is too frightfully real to admit of doubt or mistake,
lie is the condemned felon again, guilty' and despairing, and
in two hours more he is a corpse.
ROMANCE IN THE TONGO ISLANDS.
In Mariner's account of the Tongo Islands the following
local anecdote is related : ®
“In former times there lived a Tool (governor) of Vavaso.
who exercised a very tyrannical despotism towards his people*
which caused a certain chief to meditate a plan of insurrection?
but his plan being discovered, he was condemned to be taken
out to sea aud drowned, and all his family and relations were
ordered to be massacred, that none of his' race might remain.
One of his daughters, a beautiful girl, young and interestinc-'
had been reserved to be the wife of a chieftain of considerable
rank—and she, too, would have sunk, the victim of the merci
less destroyer, had it not been for the generous exertions of
another young chief, who a short time before had discovered
the submarine cavern of Hoonara. The discovery he had not
communicated to any one, as he meditated a plan of insurrec
tion, and reserved the cavern for a retreat, in case be was un
successful. Be had long been enamored of this young maiden,
but from her destiny he had been obliged to conceal his passion.
But now the dreadful moment arrived in which she was to be
cruelly sacrificed to the rancor of a man to whom he was a
most deadly enemy. No time was to be lost. He flew to her
abode, communicated the direful tidings, and declared himself
her deliverer, if she would trust to his honor; and with eyes
speaking the most tender affection he waited for an answer.
Soon her consenting hand was clasped in his, and, favored by
the shades of evening, they made their escape, while the covert
of the grove afforded shelter till her lover had brought a small
canoe to a lonely part of the beach. In this they speedily
embarked, and as he paddled her across the smooth wave he
related his discovery of the cavern. They soon arrived at
the rot k. He leaped into the' water, and she, instructed bv
him, followed his example ; and they rose in the cavern, and
rested themselves after their fatigue,'am! p.artouk of some re
freshments he had previously provided. He was obliged to
return the next morning to Vavaso, and come but seldom to
her, to avoid suspicion. He brought her mats to lie on, the
finest gnatto for a change of dress, the best of food for her
suppor; sandel, wood, oil, cocoa nuts, &,c., to render her life
as happy ns possible. lie pleaded his love with the most im
passioned eloquence, and drew from her the acknowledgment
of a mutual passion, which she, like him, had been obliged to
conceal. He was happy.
******
He signified to his inferior chiefs his intention of departing
from his own to the F<ji Islands. They, with their wives,
(hildien, See., left the islands. As they were on t!ie point of
depaiture, they asked him if he would not take a Tonga wife
with him. He replied, “No;’’ betas they approached the
shores ol Hoonga, he desired them to stop while he went into
the sea to letch his wife. He plunged into the sea, and to their
utter astonishment reappeared with a beautiful female. At
fiist they mistook her for a goddess; but when they were ac
quainted" with, the truth, all the young men could not help en
xjing him. they arrived sale at the Ftji Islands, and con
tinued with a certain chief three years, at which time, in conse
quence ol the death of the tj rant, they returned to Vavaso. amj
lived long in peace and happiness.”
J/tc I’emale Ihe following natural and true description of the
parental comfort derived from female children, is from a speech of
Bant ws, an eminent Irish lawyer :-“The love of offspring—the
most forcible of all our instincts—is even stronger towards the
lenitih , than the nnle child. It is wise that it should be so; it is
inoitj" required." 1 here is no pillow on which the hoad of a parent,
anguished by sickness, or by sorrow, can so sweetly repose, as on
the bosom of an affectionate daughter—Her attentions are unceas-.
mg. She is utterly incapable of remaining inactive. The boy
may afield "Occasional ciinifort tied pride to his family—they may
( .itch glory from his celebrity, and derive support iron; his acquisi
tions ‘bnt ho never ceinmimicates the solid and unceasing comforts
of life, which are derived from the caieaud tender solicitude of the
female child. She seems destined by Providence to bo the perpe
tual solace ai d happiness of her parent. Even after her marriage
her filial affections are unimpaired. She may give her hand an<|
heart to her husband, but still she may share hei cares and attention's
with her jiarcnts, without a pang of jealously or distrust from him.
He only looks on them as the assured pledges of her fidelity, and
the unerring evidences of a good disposition.
Poaching.— A man the other day was brought before a country
matiistiate for poaching in the preserved covus. “So fellow,”
the worthy justice, “ you’ve g.it into a preserve, eh ! ’ “ Noa’'
said the man ; “ please your worship, I’ve got into a pickle," '
WIIOLK NO. 255.