Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

EDITED BY THOJIAS HAYNES. VOL. VI. HO. 21. ' Qlji! of BV p. L. ROBINSOW, State Printer, And Publisher (by authority) of the Laws of the United States. ISSUED EVERY TUESDAY MORNING. (CF TERMS. —Three Dollars per annum. No subscription taken for less than a year, and no paper discontinued, but at the option of the publisher, until all arrear ages are paid. CHANGE OF DIRECTION.—We desire such of our subscribers as mar at any ( ime wish the direction of •.heir papers changed from one Post Office to another, to iafonu us, in all cases, of the place to which they had been previously sent; as the ■ere order to forward them to a different office, places it almost out of our power to comply, because we hare no means of ascertaining the office from which thav are order"-.| 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 Adnii nistrators. Executors, or Guardinns, are required by law to be held on the first Tues day in the month, between 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 iu apubltc gazette SIXTY DAYS previous to the day of 'talc. I Sales of NEGROES must be at public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month I between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in lite county where the -Hellers tewtimoitlary.of Adhimiatraiionor Guardianship, may have been granted, first -giving SIXTY DAYS notice thereof, in one of the public gazettes of this State, •»nd at th" door of the Court House where such sales are to be held. Notice tor the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner, FORTY WAVS pievious to the d .y of sale. Notice lo the Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published FORTY 'DAYS. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell iLAND, must be published for FOUR .MONTHS. Notice tor leave to sell NEGROES, mast bo published for FOUR MONTHS fenfore atty order absolute shall be made by the Court thereon. Notice ot Application for Letters of Administration must be published THIRTY •AYS. Nolle eof Application for Letters of Dismission from the Administration of an Es tate, are required to be published monthly for SIX MONTHS. _ MISCELLANEOUS. From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier. HENRY AND MARIE: • OR THE FAITHFUL ONES —A PRIZE TALE. CHAPTER I. In tdealing out of the affections and feelings to the human race, how unequal the distribution I The natures of some over flow with kindness —others acidify every thing which they come in contact! The feelings of some swell up from the heart fresh, gener ■ous, and pure; their blind influence, like a flood of sunshine, harinoniz s the troubled spirit; others would render turbid the ■clearest faint—would cast a blight on the richest fancies. * I It tve Io »ked for him long and earnestly, and yet he comes ■not, i wonder why he di lays ?—This boquet, which 1 gathered for him lias nearly fad.-d. They say, that man’s love is as mu table as the leaves of these flowers. It may be so; but he is not as other men; he loves not as other men. His hesrl’s feel ings have a free gust; his heart’s fibres are turned to a greater; unison.’ Thus mused Marie. The r ; ch fires of sunset were yet fresh ' in the west, and the light was flooding on, as it floods the Dal- j snatian shores, from the bosom of the Adriatic. Tile zephyr - was there—the brilliance of the ‘rosy-eyed’ star was there— and Marie was then done. Bright had been the day-star of Marie; it had ever been in ' the ascendant. It seemed as though her life had been a life <if| joy. The hyacinth bloomed for her; the foot pressed on vio- ' Jet beds; the crocus opened its early beauties Io her e\e. — Once only bail the dark shades es file gathered around her; it was al the death of her inodier—Long did she remember the light of a mothers eye. But time, which raises tip the bowed down, and bows down I lie raised up—which snatches the rose ■from the cheek of one to crimson more deeply the cheek of a nother, healed that young heart. Her father lived, but he was too deeply absorbed in mad schemes of ambition to heed his daughter. Under the care of a widowed childless aunt, she trod the bright places of childhood. Oft did her laugh break ! over the hills, and call up the bird’s wild song. She grew grew in beauty. Oil! it is sweet, supremely sweet, to seethe! bands dissolve away which hold a lovely girl to childhood,.and j to see her burst forth, like a spring bud, in the beauty and sym-1 etry of womanhood. CHAPTER 11. ‘Marie, is not Mr. Mardon frequent in his visits here?’ ask ed her father one evening; and his dark eye flashed full to wards her. ‘ Yes, father; is there harm in that ?’ ‘ Daughter, there is harm; I would not have it so. The only child of a Wieland, methinks should not be too intimate with a country lawyer.’ ‘ What objections have you to Henry, father?’ ‘Oli, no objections to Mr. Marden ; but—-but—he’s only a country lawyer.’ ‘ Father, ’ ‘Say no more, Marie; his frequent comings must be broken off.’ And Marie said no more, but her heart was full. She ad mired Henry ; he was above the crowd around her in nobility of sentiment, if not in birth. His mind was rich in classical imagery, and his thoughts gushed out seemingly as the un troubled distillations of a child. Born under aa inauspicious star, and thrown on unfavorable places. Henry Mardon had resisted manfully all oppo-ition. With a high soul, and a nerved arm, he had dashed aside the ■enticements of youth, and w ith a mind, free from every shackle that would restrain it to earth, lie drank from the reservoirs of Nature. He drank and was filled. There is something God-like in the soul, low of birth, seek ing after high places, and reaching after the pleasures of intel lectual existence. Oft had Henry communicated with Marie. The ir spirits were congenial. Maria Wieland was the betrothed of Henry Mardon. • •••♦• Laughter was on the face of the morning. The garments of each glittered as a geinmed coronet. The dew-drop shrank from the touch of the sunbeam, as the sensitive plant shrinks from the touch of man. Proudly and beautifully swept the lark, the messenger of day. The air was melody, the heavens bright, but how weak were the attractions of Nature to her, the temple of whose heart was invaded by grief, and its altar despoiled! Marie arose from her bed unrefreshed for care had hung up on her eyelids, and mingled its troubled influences in her slum bers. Oh ’ On how the cheek loses its rosy blush, and the rich eve its lustre by one night’s sleepless passing ! She had seen Henry ecu hi,,, f, lr ( | le ] iltJ time. Severe was the parting. It is hard t<> wr>-»t away the ivv, strong bound ami untracealde amid tin- branches, of the oak, but more difficult to separate heaits whose tendrils are interwoven by a thousand secret ten dencies. Sid was Marie. Aunt Dorothy done all she could do; but * !'• si nph-M>id, could nut administer effectually to a wounded art. Sue had lived io other days, when marriage was uni a |»<u.iiion; when repellant minds were not constrained l<>- getlier, nor congenial minds constrained apart ! CHAPTER 111 Flieif are men ever resiles ever changing. They en ' >r t>» ne.ik awav from every restraint, like the untamed bird, holden from the flowers of a spring morning. Such was the character of Mr. Wieland. High was his bearmg deep was the darkness of his eye. The expansive forehead told that wuhm h.m were materials to effect daring and fearful pnrposes-Amb.tim.s he had ever mingled in the stor my elements ol politics. Horace savs, “ Dulce out pro potria mori.” Wieland thought it was better ‘pro patria vivere.’ He lived for his country, ami lived for her until he had sacrificed his peace and fortune to the cormoreqt tooth of the public. tssj&z < i c • It would be a painful task for a writer to trace the gradually downward course of one who had embarked upon the high sea of politics, without being sufficiently freighted with moral vir tue, to withstand the undercurrents, which would hear him from his track. It would be useles too. Instances rs this nature are daily occuring, which man might profit by, if he would profit by aught on the subject. Mr. Wieland had entered fidiv into the politics oi the times. Gifted with those virtues which please the multitude, for a while he was borne careeringly on. But he throws himself upon the foibles of the multitude, commits himself to a leaky vessel, which may sink, surrounded by the smoothness of a summer sea. Reverses will come—and coming to a man of Mr. Wieland’s temperament, they exert no amiable influence. • At this time, the elements were gathering troublously on out national horizon. The states bail flung off the night mare of tyranny which had pressed them to the earth, and having no 1 common foe will) which to contend, they were disputing among , themselves. The federate bond had not yet been adopted that made them, as it were a unity. The inteiests of the different I sections of the country were in fearful conflict; and many a wise statesman, who had been in the ship of state when the waves dashed high, trembled at the ledge she was closely near ing. In this state of suspense, when the minds of the people were eminently excited, the course pursued by Mr. Wieland was thought to be, to say the least, suspicious. Defeated in some of his schemes, and maddened by defeat, he plunged into excess of action, which his enemies construed into a disregard and vio lation of the laws. Whether it were true, that he designed a lawless act, will never, perhaps, be developed ; but certain it is, the tide of public opinion bore heavily against him—and whois able to withstand public opinion? The proud, the high, the ambitious Wieland, was arrested as a participator in orconniv er at— treason ! Public opinion, enverite, is a fluctuating sea ! CHAPTER IV In the meantime where was Henry? Had he cast himself in the sepulchre of his earthly hopes, and given up his hopes lo a senseless weepint;? Was he a Romeo, dying at the tomb of the Capulet? Or, was he a man, with the reachings of a man, mounting the ladder to fame ? His love was not a passion, so fiery in its nature as to burst out with a fearful luridness, and then to subside leaving naught but a mass of ruins. Novel readers may condemn me for not killing him instantly. I hazard their condemnation. Thank Heaven! the day of sickly sentiment is passing, and people can now love and Z/re. But Henry Mardon loved as a reasonable man. His was a pine and steady flame, lighting tip a pathway to virtue, and dis covering the secret places of vice. When he learned the objections of Mr. Wieland to him, as a son-in-law, instead of yielding it. a supineness of feeling, his energies were quickened into action. He parted with Marie— (in a pathetic manner, 1 suspect—lovers are ; pl to part thus.) He established himself in another section of the country, and soon gained a reputation for logical tieduction and closeness of i reasoning—traits inseparable to -ood lawyers. And think you lie forgot Marie? Does the Dove forget its mate? He was sitting in his study one evening, in that listless man ner in which one is apt to fall, after a day of close application, when a servant reached him a letter. The endorsement was in a familiar hand. It is said that ladies always tremble when they receive a note, but hail one of iny female readers seen Henrv then, she would have thought the .trembling was not confined lo her sex. He broke the seal and read : “ Henry—Come to us quick), I My father has been arrest ed as a traitor to the interests of his country. He must be de fended—successfully defended—or you know the consequence. Henry Mardon could never marry a malefactor’s daughter.— Come! Devotedly yours, Sept. 21st, 17— Marie. Henry done what all other yonng men would have done in I the same case—he went to Marie. But as the facilities of steam had not been so abundantly multiplied in those days as now, we have no authority to aflirm that he went either in one hour or one day. He ascertained the situation of affairs, and ascer tained too. that he had only two weeks in which to prepare a defence for Wieland. This was the most important case in which he had ever been retained, but his energies lose equal to the task. CHAPTER V. There was a hasty rush of people, as the rushing of mist be fore the breath of the morning, on the day of the trial. All classes forsook their labors and falling in the current were borne to the court-room. It is useless to trouble the reader with the technicalities of a legal proceecing. After all the preliminaries had been adjusted, Mardon the counsel for the defendant arose. There was a deep stillness through the wide assembly, as thounli a sorrow pressed upon it. All were anxious to hear the youthful pleader, who had sprung into notice from obscurity. He delivered the exordium in a tone scarcely audible, but rich ly musical. When his feelings became excited—when became lograsp at the powerful arguments of his antagonist counsel— when intellect giapplet! with intellect, and energy with energy the minds of the multitude were borne away by the depth of his eloquence. When he had done, there was a mingling of voices, like the murmurs of the sea, and half-uttered, half suppressed notes of approbation, wandered through the room. Reader, the haughty Wieland owed his life to the exertions of a poor country lawyer ! Alt! Henry would not have exchang ed -ituatioHS with the rich, the powerful of the earth. He had gained renown, and he had won Marie. • ••••• “ Mr. Martion,” said Mr. Wieland, some days after, “ I have deeply wronged you. Your solicitude in my behalf demands a reward greater than lean give. My all is yours.” Henry profited by his generosity. He modestly asked for Marie. He look her, and was happy. MURAT CALLED TO HIS DEATH. Whilst poor Murat was thus engaging the attention of his attend ants with these important reminiscences, so incontrovertibly true, the dour of the chamber slowly opened,—Giovanni Della Casa enter ed, and, with downcast eyes, innoiinced that sentence of death was passed, and would be executed in half an hour. Joachim beheld the speaker with perfect calm: not the slightest change was visible in his countenance; not for an instant did he lose his presence of mind.’ He met the hideous features of this far more terrible of deaths with as much indifference as he had faced it when it was disguised under the trappings and the panoply of war. Ta king in his hand the cornelian seal on which was graven his wife’s image, he gazed on it and kissed it, and then again dwelt upon the minialurt'd features of his four children, on which he dropped a tear. Desiring th.'t Ihe cornelian he then held within his hand night after death be taken 1 from its grasp and given Io his wife, and the miniature to l>e buried with him, he walked erect into the room of death, in which were drawn up in double file twelve soldiers. The muskets had not yet been loaded ; and upon this thrilling operation King Joa chim stood, looking as though he were upon parade. The proposal made to him of being blindfolded, he tnildlv rejected with it smile; then placing his tight hand, which grasped the effigies of his family, upon his breast, lie exclaimed, in a calm, strong voice, ‘ Spare the face; aim at my heart?’ Twelve muskets answered to the words, and sent twelve balls into the breast which had never harbored any other fettling thin those of generosity, benevolence, and virtue. The engraved cornelian and the picture were taken from his strong deilli-grasp. His mulillated remains, together with the portraits of his familv, were buried in the very church which had been erected by his munificence. Such was the deplorable and atiorions end of the illustrious war rior v lenn death had resjtected in more than two hundred battles.— He was in the forty-eighth year of his age, and the eighth of his reign over Naples.— Maceroni. Said a fellow to a Jew, n while ago, “did you know that they hung Jews and Jackasses together in England?” “No I didn’t, replied tin Israelite, but if it be true, he continued, it is fortunate that you and I are not there, for one of us might be hung for his nation, and the oth er for his nature, and there would be an end of both.” MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE IS, ISIIO. Our Conscience-—Our Country— Our Forty. e rom the Knickerbocker. THE FIRST LOCOMOTIVE- BY ONE WHO SAW IT. In the year 1808, I enjoyed the never-to-be-forgotten gratification of a paddle up the Hudson, on the first steamboat that ever moved on the waters of atty river, with passengers. Among the voyagers, was a man I had known many years previous, by the name of Jabez Doolittle. He was an industrious and ingenious worker in sheet-iron tin', and wire; but his great success lay in wire work, especially in making rat-traps;’ and for his last and best invention in that line, he had just secured a patent; and with a specimen of his work he was then on a journey through the State of New-York, for the purpose of disposing of what he called ‘county rights;’ or, in other words, to sell the privilege of catching rats, according to his patent trap.’ It was a very curious trap, as simple as it was ingenious; a, most ingenious things are, after they are invented. It was an oblong wire box, divided into two compartments ; a rat entering one, where the bait was hung, which he no sooner touched than the door at which he entered fell. His only apparent escape was by a funnel-shaped hole into the other apartment, in passing which, he moved another wire, which instantly reset the trap; and thus rat after rat was fur nished the means'of ‘ following in the footsteps of Iris illustrious pre decessor,’ until the trap was full. Thus it was not simply a trap to catch a rat, but a trap by which rats trapped rats, ad infimtuin. This trap, at the time to which I allude, absolutely divided the at tention of the passengers; and for my part, it interested me quite as much as did the steam engine; because, perhaps, 1 could more easi ly comprehend its mystery. To me, the steam engine was Greek; the trap was plain English. Not so, however, to Jabez Doolittle.— 1 found him studying the engine with great avidity and perseveiance, insomuch that the engineer evidently became alarmed, and declined answering any more questions. ‘ Why, you need’nt snap off so tarnal short,’ said Jabez; ‘ a body would think voti had’nt got a patent for your machine. If 1 can’t meddle with you on the water, as nigh as 1 can calculate, 1’1) be up to you on the land one of these days.’ These ominous words fell upon my ear, as I saw Jabez issue from the engine room, followed by the engineer, who seemed evidently to have got his steam up. ‘Well,’said I, ‘Jabez, what do you think of this mighty machine.?’ ‘ Why,’ he replied, ‘ If that critter had’nt got riled up so soon, a-bo dy could tell more about it; but 1 reckon I’ve got a leetle notion on’t;’ and taking me aside, and looking carefully around, lest some one should overhear, he ‘ then and there’ assured me in confidence, in profound secrecy, that if he did’nt make a wagon go by steam, be fore he was two years older, then he’d give up invention. lat first ridiculed the idea ; but when 1 thought of that tat-trap. and saw be fore me a man with sharp twinkling gray eyes, a pointed nose, and every line of Iris visage a channel of investigation and invention, I could not resist the conclusion, that if he ever did attempt to meddle with hot water, we should hear more of it. Time went on. Steamboats multiplied; but none dreamed, or if they ditl, they never told their dreams, of a steam wagon; for even the name of ‘ locomotive’ was then as unknown as ‘ loco-foco.’— When, about a year after the declaration of the last war with Eng land, (and may it be the last !) I got a letter from Jabez, marked ‘ private,’ telling me that he wanted to see me ‘ m~st desperately,’ and that I must make him a visit at that place ‘nigh Wallingford.’— On reaching his residence, imagine my surprise, when be told me he believed he ‘ had got the notion.’ ‘ Notion?—what notion?’ I enquired. ‘Why,* says he, ‘ that steam-wagon, I tell’d about, a spell ago; but,’ added he, ‘ it has pretty nigh starved me out,’ and sure enough he did look as if he had been on the “ anxious seat,’ as he used to say, when things puzzled him. ‘ I have used up,’ said he, ‘ plaguey nigh all the sheet-iron and old stove-pipes, ami mill-wheels, aid trunnel-heads, in these parts; but I’ve succeeded ; and for fear that some of these cute folks about here may have got a peep through the hole, will trouble me when I come to get a patent, I’ve sent for vou to be a witness; for you was the first and only man I ever hinted the notion to, in fact’ continued he, * I think the most curious part of this invention is, that as yet I don’t know any one about here who has been able to guess what I’m about. They all know it is an invention of some kind, for that’s iny business, you know ; but some say it is a thrashing-machine, some a distillery, and ot late they begin to think it a shingle splitter; but they’ll sing ano'hrr time when they see it spinning aiong past the stage-coaches,’ added he, with a knowing chuckle, ‘wont they?’ This brought us to the door of an old clap-boarded, dingy, long, one-story building, with a window or two in the roof, the knot-holes, and cracks all stuffed with old rags, and over the door he was unlock ing, was written, in bold letters, ‘No Admittance.’ This was his ‘ sanctum sanctorum.* There it stood, occupying the centre of all previous conceptions, rat-traps, churns, apple-parers, pill-rollers, cooking-stoves, and shingle-splitters, which hung or stood around it; or as my Lord Byron says, with reference to a mote ancient but more important invention: “Where each coneeption was a heavenly guest, A ray of immortality, and stood Star like around, until they gathered to a God.” And there it stood, ‘ the concentrated focus’ of all previous rays of inventive genius, ‘ The Fiist Locomotive.’ An unpainted unpolished, unadorned, oven-shaped mass, of dou ble riveted sheet-iron, with cranks and pipes, and trnnnel-heads, and screws, and valves, all firmly braced on four firmly made travelling wheels. ‘ It’s a curious critter to look at,’ says Jabez, ‘ but you’ll like it better when you see it in motion.’ He was by this time igniting a quantity of charcoal, which lie sluffed tinder the boiler. ‘ I filled the bi’ler,’ savs he, ‘ arter I stop ped working yesterday, and it lia’nt leaked a drop since. It will soon bile up; the coal is first late.’ Sure enough the boiler soon gave evidence of ‘ troubled waters,’ when by pushing one slide, and pulling another, the whole machine, cranks and piston, was in motion. ‘ It works slick, don’t it?’ says Jabez. ‘ But,’ I replied, * it don’t move.’ ‘ You mean,’ says he, ‘ the travelling wheels don’t move ; well, I don’t mean they shall, till I get my patent. You see,’ he added, crouching down, ‘ that trunnel-head there—that small cog-wheel? Well, that’s out of g«ar just yet; when I turn that into gear, by this crank, it fits, you see, on the main travelling-wheel, and then the hull scrape will move, as nigh as 1 can calculate, a little slower than chain lightnin,’ and a darn’d leetle too ! But it won’t do to give it a try afore I get the patent. There is only one thing yet,’ he continued, ‘ that i lia’nt contrived—but that is a simple matter—and that is, the shortest mode of stoppin’ on her. My first notion is, to see how fast I can make her work, without smashing all to bits, and that’s done by screwing down this upper valve; and I’ll show you ’ And with that he clambered up on the top, with a turning screw in one hand, and a horn of soap-fat in the other, and commenced screwingdown the valves, and oiling the piston rod and crank joints ; and the motion ol the mysterious mass increased, until all seemed a buz. * It is nigh about perfection, ain’t it ?’ said he. I stood amazed in contemplating the object befoie me, which I confess I could not fully understand ; and hence, with the greatest readiness, permitted iny mind to bear off to othci matters more com prehensible to the future, which is always more clear than the pres ent, under similar circumstances, I heeded not, for the very best rea son in the world, because I understood not, the complicated descrip tion that Jabez was giving of his still more complicated invention. All I knew was, that here was a machine on four good sturdy well braced wheels, and it only required a recorded patent to authorize that small connecting cog-wheel or trunnel-head to be thrown ‘ into gear,’ when it would move off, without oats, hay, or horse-shoes, and distance the mail coaches. As I was surrounded with notions, it was not extraordinary that one should take full possession of me. It dawn ed upon me, when I saw the machine first put into motion, and was now full orbed above the horizon of my desire ; it was to see the loco motive move ofl. The temptation was irresistible. ‘ And who knows,’ thought I, ‘ but some prying scamp may have been ‘ peeping’ through ’he key-hole, while Jabez was at work, and, catching the idea, may he now at work at some clumsy imitation?—and if he does not suc ceed in turning the first trick, may at least divide the honors with my friend ?’ ‘ Jabez,’ says I, elevating nty voice above the buzzing noise of the machine, ‘ there is one thing wanting.’ ‘ What is that ?’ said he eagerly. ‘ Immortality, ’ said I, ‘ and you shall have it, patent or no patent 1’ And with (hat, 1 pulled the crank that twisted the connecting trun nel-head into the travelling wheels, and in an instant away went the machine, with Jabez. on lop of it, with the whiz and rapidity of a flushing partridge. |’he side of the old building presented the resist ance of wet paper. One crash, and the ‘ first locomotive’ was ush ered into this breathing world. 1 hurried to the opening, and had just time to clamber to the top of a fence to catch the last glimpse of nty fast-departing friend. True to his purpose, I saw him alter nately screwing down the valves, and oiling the piston rod and crank joints ; evidently determined that although he had started off a little unexpectedly, he would redeem the pledge he had given, which was, that when it did go, it ‘ would go a leetle slower than a streak of chain lightnin’, and a darn’d leetle too !’ “Like a cloud in the dim distance fleeting, Like an arrow, he hurried away!” But a moment, and he was here ; in a moment he was there ; and now where is he? er rather, where is he not? But that, for the pre sent, is ‘ neither here nor there.’ My task is done. All I now ask, is, that although some mystery bang over the first invention of a steam boat—in which doubt, however, I for one, do not participate , none whatever may exist in regard to the origin of the locomotive branch of tl'/? great steam family ; and that, in all future time, this fragment of authen tic history may enable the latest posterity to retrace, by ‘ back-tra«k’ and ‘ turn-out,’ through the long rail road line of illustrious ances tors, the first projector and contriver of “ The First Locomotive,* their immortal progenitor, ‘Jabez Doolittle, Esqr. nigh Walling ford, Connecticut.’ BROUGHAM’S PORTRAIT OF FRANKLIN. The following admirable sketch of the American philosopher, is from a new work recently published in London, entitled—Statesmen in the time of George III.” it has not yet been published in this country: One of the most remarkable men certainly of our times as a poli tician, or of any as.a philosopher, was Franklin, who standsalone in combining together these two character, the greatest that man can sustain, and in this, that having borne the first part in enlarging sci ence by one of the greatest discoveries ever made, he bote the se cond part in founding one of the greatest empires in the world. In this truly great man every thing seems to concur that goes to wards tbe constitution of exalted merit. First lie was the architect of Iris own fortune. Born in the humblest station, he raised himself by his talents and his industry, first to the place in society which may be attained with the help of only ordinary abilities, great application and good luck; but next to the loftier heights which a daring and hap py genius alone can scale; and the Poor Printer’s boy who at one period of his life had no covering to shelter his head from the dews of night, rent in twain the proud dominion of England, and to be the Ambassador of a Commonwealth which he had formed, at the Court of the haughty Monarchs of France who had been his allies. Then he bad tried by prosperity as well as adverse fortune, and had passed unhurt through perils of both. No ordinary apprentice, no commonplace journeyman, ever laid the foundations of his inde pendence in habits of industry and temperance more deep than he did whose genius was afterwards to rank him with the Galileos and the Newtons of the old world. No patrician to shine in courts, or assist at the Councils of Monarchs, ever bore his honors in a lofty station more easily, or was less spoilt by the enjoyment of them than this common workmen did when negociating with Royal represen tatives, or caressed by all the beauty and fashion of the most bril liant Court in Europe. Again he was self-taught in all he knew. His hours of study were stolen from those of sleep and of meals, or gained by some ingenious contrivance for reading while the work of his daily calling went on. Assisted by none of the helps which affluence tenders to the studies of the rich, he had to supply the place of tutors by redoubled diligence, and of commentaries, by repeated perusal. Nay the possession ot books was to be obtained by contriving what the art he himself ex ercised, furnished easily to others. Next, the circumstances, under which others succumb he made to yield, and bend to his own purposes—a successful leader of the revolt that ended in a complete triumph after appearing desperate for years; a great discoverer in philosophy without the ordinary helps to know legde; a writer famed for his chaste style without a classical education a skilful negotiator though never bred to politics ending as a favorite, nay. a pattern of fashion, when the guest of frivolous Courts, the life which he had begun in garrets and workshops. Lastly, combinations of faculties, in others deemed impossible, ap pealed easy and natural in him. The philosopher, delighting in spec ulation, was also eminently a man of action. Ingenious reasoning, refined and subtle consultation, were in him combined with prompt resolution, and inflexible firmness of purpose. To a lively fancy he joined a learned and deep reflection; his original and inventive genius stooped to the convenient alliance of the most ordinary prudence in every-day affairs; the mind that soared above the clouds, and was conversant with the loftiest of human contemplations, disdained not to make proverbs, and feign parables for the guidance of appren ticed youths and servile maidens; and the hands that sketched a free constitution for a whole continent or drew down the lightning from heaven , easily and cheerfully lent themselves to simplify the apparatus by which truths were to be illustrated, or discoveries pur sued. His discoveries were made with hardly any apparatus at all; and if at any time he had been led to employ instruments of a somewhat less ordinary description, he never seemed satisfied until he had, as it were, afterwards translated the process by resolving the problem with such simple machinery, that you might say he done it wholly un aided by apparatus. The experiments by which the identity of light ning and electricity was demonstrated, were made with a sheet of brown paper, a bit of twine, a silk thread, and an iron key. Upon the integrity of this man, whether in public or private life, there rests no stain. Strictly honest and scrupulously punctual in all his dealings, he preserved in the highest fortune that regularity which he bad practised as well as inculcated in the lowest. In domestic life he was faithless, and in the intercourse of society delightful. There was a constant good humor and a playful wit, easy and of high relish, without any ambition to shine, the natural fruit of bis lively fancy, his solid natural good sense, and his cheerful temper, that gave his conversation an unspeakable charm, and alike suited every circle, from the humblest to the most elevated. With all his strong opinions, so often solemnly declared, so imperishably record ed in his deeds, he retained a tolerance for those who differed with him which could not be surpassed in men whose principles hang so loosely about them as to be taken up for a convenient cloak, and laid down when found to impede their progress. In his family he was every thing that worth, warm affections and prudence could contribute to make a man both useful and amiable respected and beloved. In religion he would be reckoned by many a latitudinarian, yet it is certain that his mind was imbued with a deep tense of the divine perfection, a constant impression of our accountable nature, and a lively hope of future enjoyment. Accordingly his death bed, the test of both faith and works, was easy and placid, resigned and de vout, and indicated at once an unflinching retrospect of the past, and a comfortable assurance of the future. If we turn from the truly great man whom we have been contem plating,to his celebrated contemporary in the Old World, (Ferderick the Great.) who only affecte I the philosophy that Franklin possessed, and employed his talents for civil and military affairs, in extinguish ing that independence which Franklin’s life was consecrated to es tablish, the contrast is marvellous indeed, between the Monarch and the Printer. HUSBANDS AND WIVES. We are glad to see something like good sense in the max ims given relative to the treatment that busbands and wives should observe towards each other. In nearly all the sage say ings, on this subject, the wife is regarded as a sort of domestic utensil, a kind of dependent, who has nothing to do but comb the children’s heads, (taking care not to comb her husband’s) cook the dinner to a turn for his surly lordship, receive him with smiles, though he is ever so crabbed, and make a low courtesy and “thank you, sir,” if he condescends to give her a look that would sour more cream than a thunder gust. The gentleman has nothing to do but fold his arms, and suffer his wife to busy herself in pleasing him. He is to kick over the mop pail when he pleases, upset the tea table when it suits his humor, keep his wife up all night to receive him with smiles when he comes staggering home from his clubs, and the p.oor lady is to lake all the blame of bis being a disagreeable, dis contented, mulish fellow, if after all her patience she cannot succeed in making him something. It is high time this Turkish doctrine was exploded.. The husband has duties to perform to make home agreeably, as well as the wife. He should consult her happiness quite t».s much as she does his, and make as many sacrifices in her behalf. It is true the husband oftener requites to be humored to prevent bin: from acting the brute, because there are an hundred good wives where there is one good husband, and a sensible woman, if she be cursed with such a yoke fellow, will strive for her own sake and that of her children, to soften down his asperi ties. But we like not this doctrine which imposes the whole task of making home happy, upon the female. It seems to sanction the conduct of lite husband who makes no effort to perform his part, and to furnish him an apology for indulging in ill temper, and then blaming his wife for not making him good natured. Another Explosion.— The brig Good Hope, from Matagorda, brings information that the steamer Ponchartrain, Capt. Hughes, from this port for Tampico, burst her boiler a few days previous to the 28th tilt, and was compelled to rig a jury mast and stand for the Texas coast. She was discovered on the morning of the above date nt an chor, about eight miles N. E. of Passo Cabello with her flag, union down, at the jury mast head. Just as the Good Hope was getting un der weigh, two men arrived at the pilot station at the head of Mata gorda Bay, who stated that no one was killed by the explosion, but her machinery was considerably injured. The pilot at the bay im mediately started in company with the two men arfd others for the unfortunate boat,—.V. O. Louisianian. P. L. ROBINSON, PROPRIETOR. SHAKSPEARE’S COURTSHIP OF ANNE HATH AWAY. From the Youth of Shakspeare. “ How dost like our Anne’s singing?” enquired John Hath away, when his daughter had left the chamber to put the chil dien to their beds. “ Very exceedingly I do assure you,” replied the youth, with a notable sincerity. •* ’ r j » “ Humph !” exclaimed the father, as though Ire were a think ing of something he cared not to give speech to., “Indeed she hath a sweet throat.”—Nothing more was said on that head at the moment; and they again talked of country matters, till his host could not any longer contain his great wondering at his guests marvellous insight into such things, and enquired how he acquired it; whereupon the other truly answered he got it by questioning of those whose business it was. In good time the yeoman’s blooming daughter relumed, and buried her selfwuh preparations for supper, taking care whenever die could to have her Mw »•» th-riHcoiTrSe, whiclt-che "313 yfith a pretty sprightliness exceedingly agreeable to her voung admi rer. Seeing her attempting to move the great table nigher the fire, he must needsjump up, and with a graceful officiowsnes# seek to do it himself, which she appeared to object lo in some manner, and there was a little arguing of the matter betwixt them—t e father looking on with a glimmering smile, as if he could see in it something exceedingly pleasant. Tbe end was that the two young people carried the table together, manifestly to their extreme satisfaction. In due time the rashers were done, and, with a store of oth er wholesome victuals were put on a fair white cloth, that cov ered the table, and William Shakspeare was pressed with blunt courtesy by the father, and a more winning persuasiveness by the daughter, to partake of the fare set before him. This he essayed to do with a notable good will. After this the bloom ing Anne brewed a goodly posset, and whilst they were en joying it, her father called on her to sing him a song, the which she seemed a little—a very little to hesitate upon, with a sort of pretty coyness time out of mind customary under similar cir cunjstances—but after the handsome youth had pressed her with an excellent show of rhetoric, she sung a dainty ditty, then popular, concerning of “The pretty little Nightingale/’ and at least one of the listeners thought it most exquisite sweet singing. Then John Hathaway would needs have a song of his guest, to the which his daughter added her entreaties so prettily, the youthful Shakspeare found it impossible to resist, whereupon he commenced the singing of a favorite love song of the time, beginning, “If I had wytt for to endyte.” The words were of a pleasant conceit, which gained considerably in admirableness by the manner of his singing, and the tune, by means of his rich clear voice, came upon the air a very river of melody. Whether the yeoman liked the song could only be told by the pleasure lurking in the corners of his mouth, and shining quaintly iu his half-closed eyelids, which might be interpreted, he saw more in it than the singer imagined—how ever, that his daughter relished it there could be no question ing, for her smiles were full as evident as her praises. “Now friend Will, thee must be agoing,” exclaimed John Hathaway, at last, in his usual plain countryman sort of man ner. “,’Tis my custom to go to bed with the lamb and rise with the lark—an excellent good custom I’ll warrant—so I’ll e’en bid thee a fair good night—nevertheless I will add to it I shall be happy to see thee at all times—and if I be not at home petchance Anne will be as happy to see thee as myself.” He said this with a look of humor that shone through all the staid ness of his aspect, and shaking his visitor heartily by the hand, he opened the door for his exit. His daughter denied not a word of what her father had said. Indeed, her glances, as she bade theyouth good night, as plainly said—“come again,” as ever was expressed by a pair of bright eyes since the world began. A STORY FOR OUR OWN TIMES. A venerable old Dutchman, after having occupied all the offices of one of the principal cities of the republic, with great honor, and having amassed a large fortune in the most unex ceptionable manner, finally formed the resolution of going to terminate his days tranquilly at his country-seat. But before retiring he wished to take leave of his friends and connexions and accordingly invited them all to a feast at his house. The guests 1 , who expected a most sumptuous repast, were much surprised on entering the eating room, to see there a long oaken table, barely covered with a coarse blue cloth. On be ing seated, they were served on wooden plates, with salted her ring, rye bread and butter, with some cheese and curdled milk. Wooden vases, filled with small beer, were passed round for each of the guests to serve themselves. This extreme oddity of the old gentleman caused secret murmurings among the company ; but out of respect for his age and wealth, instead of showing discontent, they pretended to relish their frugal fare; and some of them even complimented him upon the cordiality of those good old tim s which he had brought to remember ance. The old man—who was not duped by this feigned satis faction—did not wish to carry the joke farther—but at a signal which he gave, some servants, habited as country-women, en tered, bringing the second service. A white cloth succeeded the coarse blue one, and some pewter plates replaced the wood en ones. Instead of rye bread, dried herring and cheese, they were served with good brown bread, fresh beef, boiled fish, and strong beer. At thii> unexpected change, the secret murmurs ceased; the polite invitations on the part of the old man became more pressing and the guests ate with a better appetite. Hard ly had they time to taste this second service when they saw ac butler enter, followed by half a dozen servants in brilliant live ry, bringing the third. A superb table of mahogany, covered with a beautiful flow ered cloth, replaced the oaken one. A side-board was immediately covered with the richest pl ale and most curious china ; and the guests charmed at the sight of a pro fusion of rare and exquisite meats. The most delicious wines were freely passed around, while a melodious concert was heard in an adjoining room. Toasts were drank, and all were merry. But the good old man perceiving that his pres ence hindered the guests from giving themselves up to their fu'il joy, rose and addressed them thus: “I give you thanks ladies and gentlemen, for the favor which you have granted me. It is time that I should retire, myself, and leave you to your liberty. But before the ball commences, which I have ordered to be prepared for those who love the dance, permit me to acquaint you with the design that I proposed to myself in inviting you to a repast which has appeared so odd. I have wished thereby to give you an idea of our Republic. Our an cestors rose to their high state, and acquired liberty, riches, and power, by living in the frugal manner which you saw in the first service. Our fathers preserved these great blessings only by living in the simple manner of which the second ser vice has retracted an image. If it is permitted to an old man who is about to leave you, and who tenderly loves you, to speak clearly what be thinks, I must say, I fear that the extra vagant profusion which you may have remarked in the last service, and which is the present style of living—will deprive us of more than our ancestors have acquired by the sweat of the brow, and our fathers have transmitted to us by their indus try and wise administration.— Bangor Courier. Reason for not finishing a duel. —M. de Langerie and M. de Montartdo, both remarkable ugly men, quarrelled, and challenged one another. Arrived at the place of meeting, M. de Langerie stares bis adversary in (he face, and says, “I have just reflected: I can’t fight you.” With this he returned his sword into the scabbard. “ How, sir, what does this mean?” replied M. de Montaudo. “ It means that 1 shall not fight.” “What I you insult me, and then refuse to give me satisfaction?” “If I have insulted yon, 1 ask a thousand pardons; but I have a* insurmountable reason for not fighting with you.” “ But, sir, may one kuow it ?” “It will offend you.” “No, sir.” “You assure me ?” “ Yes I assure you.” “ Well sir, this is it—if we fight, according to all- appearances, I shall, kill you, and then I shall remain the ugliest fellow in the king dom.” His adversary could not help laughing, and they returned tt» (be city good friends. ’ WISOLE ND. 281.