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r / jr m Edited by THOMAS HAfNES. VOLUME VI.—NUMBER 28. THE STANDARD OF UNION, BY P. L. ltOBIASOX, pbblisuxr (by authority) of the laws of the dnited states. KT TERMS.—Three Dollars per annum. !\o subscription taken for less than a year, and no paper discontinued, but at the option of the publisher, until all arrearages ure paid. CHANGE OF DIRECTION.—We desire such of our subscribers as may at any inie wish the direction ot their papers changed from one Post Office to another, to inform us, in all cases, of the place to which they had been previously sent; as the mere order to forward them to a different office, places it almost out of our power to comply, because we have no means of ascertaining the 'office from which they are or dered to be changed, but by a search through our whole subscription book, containing several thousand names. AD\ ERTISEMENTS inserted ot the usual rates. Sales of LAND, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afteruuon, ai the Court House in the coun ty in which the property is situate. Notice of hese sales must be gi- rea in apubltc gazette SIXTY DAYS previous to the day of sale. Sales of NEGROES must be at public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public ■ales in the county where the letters testimentary, of Administration or Guardianship, may have been granted, first giving SIXTY' DAY’S no tice thereof, inuiie of llie puLJio gneettesof this State, at die dt)0 of the Court House where such sales ore to be held. Notice forthe sale of Personal Property must be given in like man ner, FORTY DAYS previous to the day of sale. Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published FORTY DAYS. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary fo r leave to sell LAND, must lie published for FOUR MONTHS. Notice for leave to sell NEGROES, mast be published for FOUR MONTHS before any order absolute shall be made by the Court thereon. Notice o( Application for'Letters of Administration must be publish ed THIRTY DAY’S. Notice ol Application for Letters ef Dismission from the Administra tion of an Estate, are required to be published monthly for SIX MONTHS. isa j ‘-in ANTi-DYSPEPTIC 8c ANTI - BI LLIO US «£T r.BswNij Prepared by C’. E. HAYNES, M. O. SPARTA, GEORGIA. I N offering these Pills to the public, it is not deemed obtru sive or impertinent to give a brief history of the circutn- •tances which ied to their original preparation, lu December, 1823. l)r. H. took t is sent in Congress as a Representative from Georgia, while laboring under protracted billious disease, the consequence of a severe attack of fever in the course of the previous autumn. Having exhausted the usual remedies without relief, he determined to try the effect of combining a number of well known medicines, with the separate action of each he had been familiarly acquainted in his professional course of more than twenty years. These medieiues so com bined, compose his ANTI-DYSPEPTIC AND ANT1- 151LLIOU8 PILLS. lie proceed 'd to take, as directed for dyspepsia and other chronic diseases requiring action on the bowels, oue pill at bed time, which he continued to repeat nightly for about a week, at which time he was as free fiont billious disease as if he had never been afflicted with it. On his return to Georgia in the spring of 1329, in consequence of the signal benefit he had derived from the pills, hu prescribed them lor his brother, who had been laboring under dyspepsia and liver complaint from the autumn of 18215, in consequence of a severe au>l protracted attack of bi lious fever. His health began immediately to improve, and Iris been restored by them in the manner staled in his certificate. The pills were pre scribed to others laboring under chronic billious affections, upon the confidence inspired by their success in the foregoing cases, until those cases became so numerous, that applications wete annually made to Dr. II. from 1835 to 1835 inclusive, when about to depart for Washiugton. for from twenty to fifty dozen as a supply during his absence, by persons who bad tested their virmes. So tar. no serious thought was entertained of offering them to the public at large, as the supply had been limited to the range of his private practice. Nor did Dr. 11. consent to prepare and offer them for general use, until two or three years after he had been urged to do so, by those who had been signally benefited by them. When first used by himself, he supposed their application would be confined to cases of chronic billions disease, and it was not un til after more than ten years experience of their use in many of the varieties of chronic, and some of the more violent acute febrile diseases, that he became convinced, as he now is, that they possess greater merit in all cases requiring either mild or vigorous action upon the bowels, than any other known rent «dy. As an alterative or mild aperient, they answer most ef fectively, the indication stated by Dr. James Johnson in his admirable work on the morbid irritability of the stomach and bowels, by producing usually "hut oue evacuatiou daily, and that tf a solid, rather than a liquid consistence,” Nor is it difficult to account for theirnior/us operandi. Mere evacuants operate by stimulating the mucous membrane of the stomach a id bowels, without affecting the organs essential to healthy digestion, and although they procure temporary relief, the dis eased secretions grow worse instead of better. These pills combine the most gentle actiou upon the mucous coat with au efficient aud healthy iuilueuce upon the livsr and other or gans of the digestive apparatus, aud, consequently operate in the mildest manner, and not only give present relief, but wbeu steadily persevered in, a permanent cu.e. Not are they less efficient iu fever and other acute diseases requiring active purgation, by increasing the doseasdiiecled, causing the double operation of more vigorous action oti the bowels, and proportionally stimulating the liver and otheror- gans to more healthy secretions, justifying the confident opin ion, not only entertained by the inventor, but by many who have used them, that they approach more nearly to the char acter of a universal remedy in the cases indicated, than any other known medicine It is not deemed necessary to specify the various disorders for the relief of which they are applicable, but the following are enumerated as some of them: Dyspepsia, sick head ache, liver complaint, asthnfa, habitual or casual costiveness, Diar- rhesa, heart-burn, cholic, sour stomach, billious fever, female obstructions, &c., &c- In short, in every disease requiring action on the bowels. Nor is it the smallest recommendation, that in dyspepsia, iiver complaints, and other chronic diseases, a single pill is, generally, a sufficient dose. They arc pecu liarly adapted to the condition of all persons of sedentary ha bits, either male or female, who. with scaiccly a solitary ex ception, suffer fiom a sluggish state of the bowels. Thev are also recommended as particularly convenient to the traveller iu warm climates, or seasons, and far the use of large fami lies, the dose being so easily adjusted, especially when resi ding at a distance from the experienced physician. The inventor asks his his own fellow citizens to give the pills a fair trial—pledging himself if they will do so. that they will not fail to obtain the confidence, and preference of ninety- umo out of a hundred, ot nine hundred and ninety-niue out of a thousand. As an aUerative, or mild aperient, for correct ing habitual or casual torpi lily of the bowels, one pilI taken at bed lim •. is the proper dose, without the necessity of chan ging ordinary habits of living If one should fail to produce the desired effect, it is better to repeat it for two or three suc cessive nights, than to aid its operation by taking any thing else. t or billious fever, or other acute disease requiting arrive purgation, one pill repeated every hour or two, until the de sired effect is produced, is the best modu of admini-leriug them. The subjoined certificates sufficiently attest the efficacy ol these pills. CERTIFICATES. Sparta. 15th June, 1839. I certify, that I have uaed Doct. C. E. Haynes’ Anti-Dys peptic Pills for more than two years; and pronounce them to »e the best remedy, that I have ever yet tried, for Dyspepsia and Asthma. 1 have tried Ghallaghan’s, Beckw ith’s, Bran- dreth’s and Peter’s Pills, without success. I have also found Haynes’ Pills to be an excellent iemcdy for iiitrrmiteui and bilious fever in early stages. WM. SHIVERS, Jr. Sparta, Juno 15th, 1839. Dr. C. E. Haynf.s :—Dear Sir—My attention was direct ed to your Pills a little more than a year since, by Col. Shiv ers. Since that time, I have frequently taken them myself, and given them to tny family with the most happy results. With me they have removed costiveness, checked effectu ally diarrhea, and taken off bile as fully as calomel, without producing the unpleasant effect that is usually produced by that valuable medicine. I therefore believe them a valuable medicine, and would recommend a trial of them, at least. Respectfully, K. S. HARDWICK. • Millkdgeville, 17th June, 1839. I am pleased with the opportunity of adding my testimony to the value of Dr. Haynes’ Anti-Dt.spkptic Pills. I have used them occasionally fit! - nu>i a than a year past, in ordinary diseases of the stomach and bowels, with the hap piest effects; and recently, in a sharp intermittent bilious le ver, which was entirely eradicated by thorn, iu three or four days, without the aid of any other mediciue, and cheerfully recommend them as admirably adapted to the cure of dys peptic and bilious diseases. WM. McMURRAY. Having been ro-:-—mwcReti wun strong trim.us symp toms. I uso.i d, . Haynes’ Pills with the happiest effect, which entirely relieved me, and which I do uot hesitate to recom mend as a valuable medicine. CHARLES E, RYAN. Milledgeville, 24th Juno, 1839. Sparta, July 15, 1839. Dr. C. E. Haynes; Sir—For several yeats past. I havt been afflicted with obstinate costiveness of the bowels, often going from six to ten days without any discharge from them. For several months, I used Dr.-Peters’pills, and found them useful to me. Early last Spring I was induced to try your Anti-dyspeptic Pills, which 1 have continued to use as occa sion required, and have derived more benefit from them than from any other medicine I have ever takeu. The operation is more easy, aud the effect more permauent than from any other medicine I have heretof ue used, and l give them a decided preference to any other remedy. NATHAN COOK. PowELTON, July 15, 1839. Dr. C. F,. Tlaynes:—It affords me pleasure to state, that I have repeatedly used your Anti-dyspeptic and Anti-bilious pills, aud in every instance found immediate relief, i believe them to he an excellent remedy iu various diseases, aud es pecially it) cases of asthma. Iu high esteem, &c-, &c.. JNO. WILLIAM RABUN. Sparta, July 16, 1639. Dear Sir—1 have used in tny practice some of your altera tive Anti-dyspeptic pills, and have uniformly found beuefii te my patients from their administration. I can therefore cheer fully recommend them to the afflicted, as a valuable purgative medicine. Very respectfully, Your friend, A. S. BROWN, M. D. Dr. Charles E. Haynes. Hancock Countt, July 15, 1839. I certify that my wife had suffered severely with Dyspep sia. fur a considerable time and had tried the prescriptions of several physicians without deriving any benefit from them.™ She then c immenced takiug Dr. C. E. Haynes’ Anti-Dys peptic Pills about ihe fall of 1836, which relieved bet entire ly iu the course of a few mouths. . R. MITCHELL. Sparta. July 16. 1839, Dr. Haynes ; I have been selling Peters’ Pills for the las three years, and during the time have occasionally taken them myself. (I believe them to he a good medicine ) Seme 12 or 15 days past. I hail strung symptoms of billious fever. 1 took some of Peters’ Pills, aud not receiving any benefit from them. I procured a box of your pills, and am liappv to say that they in a few days removed all symptoms of approach ing sickness. I conceive them to be an invaluable medicine. Y'ours with respect, Tf 108. M. TURNER. Milledgeville, Jult 26, 1339. Dr. Tlaynes, Sir: I take great pleasure in adding my te9- timonial to those you have already received, to the value of votir anti-dyspeptic and anti hi'lious pills. At your instance, 1 commenced using them iu my family about six years ago, aud found them more uniformly effica cious than any other remedy 1 have ever given. Especially in a recent case of menstrua! obsituction of long standing, ineffectually treated by several distinguished physicians, which was entirely relieved iu a very few days, by the use of your pills. More -ecently still, I have giveu them iu the early stage of billious fever, with entire success. Your friend, ALFRED M. HORTON. Milledgeville, 25th Jdly. 1839 Dr. C. E. Haynes; l have been hitherto induced by feel ings of delicacy alone, to withhold from the public, the expres sion of my opinion in regard to the merits of your Anti-Dys peptic anil Anti-Billions Pills; but the numerous testimonials which you have received from respectable aud intelligent cit izens. of their value iu the cure of diseases for which they were iuteuded, will, I think, justify me iu now adding my own, having experienced their benefits fora longer period tiiau auy other individual, yourself only excepted. In the spring of 1829, after haviug been afflicted from the autumn of 1823 with dyspepsia, liver complaint, heart-hum, and occasional severe attacks of cramp cholic, I was induced at your instance, to use a pill which you had prepared at Was hi ngton City, in the winter of 1828. I had not takeu them a week, before their good effects were so apparent as to induce their continuance, and at the end of a mouth, 1 found my system greatly relieved, aud by their occasional use. for a few months, was restored to au excellent state of health, which I have ever since enjoyed in a very high degree. I have used them with great effect in my own family, in cases ot billions fever, dyspepsia ami cholic, aud confidently recommend them as an invaluable remedy. T. HAYNES. Milledgeville, 30th July, 1339. Dr. Charles E. Haynes : A tom ten or twelve mouths siuct, I was induced hv your brother to make a trial of your Anti- Dyspeptic aud Anti-Billions Pills, iu a severe billious attack, aud found them most eflicieut in removing the disease. I have used them with great success, in several similar at tacks since, as well as for cholic aud disoider* * of the stomach aud bowels. They have also been administered to several members of my family, with like results, and particularly in a case of bil lious fevrr. iu the early part of the present season. From the very fair trial which I have made of these pills, and the signal heuefits which my family and myself have de rived from them. I am fully warranted in recommendiug them as a medicine of inestimable value ; and confidently predict, that they have only to be tried, to find great favor with the public. JE8SE COX For salt by E. M. COWLES, and JAMES T. LANE. MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY MORNING, AUGUST 6, 1839. POETRY. ‘LIKE ORIENT PEARLS AT RANDOM STRING.” M1LLL\ LRF Ai\I> A i\ I H 1-.T1 A KB\G. MRS. LOUISA O’BRIEN, ESPECTFULLY informs the Ladies of Milledgeville and its vicinity, that she has lately received from Charles ton, a fine assortment of BONNETS, of her own selection, among which are LADIES, MISSES AND CHILDREN’S BONNETS, OF T1IE LATEST STYLE. Some beautiful Drawee! Bonnets, of a ne\r and late stylo. \Uo. the Latest Fashion for CAPSand HEAD-DRESSES, ;iml the Latest Fashions for LADIES' DRESSES—Arti ficial Flowers of various kinds. Her Bonnets will be sold fiom one dollar and fifty cents, to two, three, even and twelve dollars. Bonnets and Dresses made too. derat the shortest notice, and of the best materials, very cheap for cash. Also, on hand some splendid Feathers for Bonnets. Milledgeville, April IOth, 1830. —t( For the Standard of Union. TO MY INTIMATE FRIEND Q. L. C. Remember me', ray old familiar friend, When zephyr’s breeze ploy gently in the shady grove: When the bright orb of evening shines down majestically From the azure sky. At the silert hour of night, When stillness reigns triumphant o’er the earth. Remember me! when music’s sweet voice salutes thy o*r, And Echo’s airy tongue gives back again Its numbers low aud sweet—and a9 it murmurs low, Lingering, as if loth to die, 'till echo sends it back again! Well do you know, my kind, my true?: friend, How 1 have lov’d sweet music’s magic spell, As the constant Swan, whose very being ends In glorious melody. I’ve been with you so oft—when winds, The whistling winds of March seemed singing Their funeral dirges o’er hoary Winter past Have watched, with you, the sweet, the rosy dawn, And soft decline of Summer’s day; Noted the early breath of Spring’s op’ning morn, As it softly crept to the young blossom’s bed: And setn all nature clad iu her gay habiliments. Then remember me i—and I, when looking up, With bended knee to him whose look is life and love, Will breathe one fond and fervent pray’r to Heav’u For thee and thine. * * * xonpabxxl. From the London Weekly Despatch. there’s A STAR I£ the west. There’s a star in the west that shall never go down Till the records of valor decay ; We must woiship its light, though ’tis not our own, For liberty bursts in its ray ; Shall the name of a Washington ever he heard By a freeman, and thrill not his breast ? Is there one out of bondage that hails not the vord As the Bethlehem star of the west I “War, war to the knife ; be enthrall’d or ye db,’* Was the echo that was in the land; But it was not his voice that prompted the cry, Nor his madness that kindled the brand; He raised not his arm, he defied not his foe3, While a leaf of the olive remained; Till goaded with insult, his spirit arose Like a long baited lion unchained. He struck with firm courage the blow of the brave, But sighed o’er the carnage tliut spread, He indignantly trampled the yoke of the slave, But wept for the thousands that Med; Though he threw back the fetters and headed the strife, Till man’s charter was fairly restored, Yet he prayed for the moment when freedom and lifo, Would no longer be pressed by the sword. Gh! ill? laurels were pure, and his patriot namft In the page m* the future shall dwell, And he seen in all annals, the foremost in famo, By the side of a llofer and Tell. Revile not my song, for the wise and the good Among Britons have nobly confessed, That his was the glory and ours was the blood Of the deeply stained field of the west. MISCELLANEOUS. From Benily's Miscellany. THE BRIDEGROOM’S STAR. In nights calm and clear, ’mid the bright orbs I try To trace her bright home in the beautiful sky ; Aud I gaze on some star, till in fancy I see The far-shining Spirit still smiling on me.—Anon. * # * # It is the fifth, and on the fifteenth I shall be the h ippiest of mortal men. Ten short days!—no, ten long, long days!—must fade into longer nights, before I can call my Marion mine. Ten days!—why, there are more than two hundred,—almost three hundred hours to be passed ; but will not Hope lighten them, will not gentle Sleep enclose some of them within her forgetful curtains, and every moment of time bring me nearer and nearer to the goal of all my wishes and all mv prayers? Yet 1 am wretched with the excess of Joy,—the excess of Joy, at whose approach Fear has grown into excess greater still. Ah ! how like to far travel is the journey of life ! While distant from its object and its home, the mind feels but languid longing for their attainment, shadowy and unabi ding presentiments of possible evil; but as we near them, as the intervening space diminishes, as the thousand miles shorten into one, how beats the pulse as the blood rushes through every vein ! how throbs the heart to bursting ! how weary seems the way ! how dreadfully arise the spectres of unheard of change or fatal accident! The last brief tide is the voyage round the world,—-the last few hours is the sum and history of human existence. * * * And well might Henry Sturmond thus dwell on the date of his appointed union ; for if ever angel were embodied in an earthly form, it was in the idol of his de voted affections. Marion was the loveliest of the lovely, the sweetest of the sweet: so bright, and yet so soft; so wise, and yet so simple; so noble, and yet so tender; that whilst ardent passion hunt in holy warmth before the bloom- ing-girl, a feeling allied to adoration hallowed the presence of the perfect woman. What a countenance was hers,— the model fixed, but the expression ever varying! On her ample brow sat Intellect enthroned ; and round that throne wlmt radiance of auburn gold. In her deep hazel eye now lighted the glance of spiritual essence, now swum the dewy moisture of pity, now rose and fell the indescri bable meanings ef love. On her rosy lips the smile of playful innocence was cradled ; nor did the suckling leave its treasure-bed unless exiled for a moment by the advent of e mpathy for sorrow, or of sorrow for misery. Such was Marion Delmar in face, nor was she in person less ad mirable. Nature had set her seal upon the most precious casket that ever enshrined an immortal gem, the setting the proudest and most glorious production of earth, the brightness within an emanation of heaven. * * * And old Time wore on; wore on, as from the creation, regardless alike of the sighs of love, the pangs of disappointment, the delights of pleasure, the shrieks of pain, the shouts of mirth, the groans of woe, the revels of sport, the terrors of death. * * * Of the ten days, eight were down; and whither had they flown, laden with all these millions of blessings and curses? They had flown back in mystery while they seemed to hurry onward,—they had returned to that abyss of eternity from which they sprung, and darkness covered them. * * * “To-morrow, Henry,” said Marion, clasping his hand in hers, and looking with measureless confiding into his watchful eye, “ to-morrow f would be alone." To a glance that seemed of the kindest reproach, she replied, “ Yes, my dearest Henry, on the next morn I will be yours for life and unto death. It is a solemn act—an act 1 will fulfil with a devotedness of heart and soul that would satis fy the most avaricious miser of love ; but let me have on ly this one day to piepare myself to he worthy of you, to seek that aid which alone can truly make our fate what every human promise tells us it will bo,—a fate of lastin affection, and peace and joy. Indeed, my dearest Henry, I would to-morrow be alone /” 1 l g' ve me now, for my consent, one more, one last eve of wandering bliss; let us visit together the spots sa cred to cur loves,—the grove ringing with the song of birds ere they seek their downy nests, the bank redolent of flowers, and the stream gurg4jj»g its music in requital for their odors, the romantic fail where first I breathed my vows of eternal truth, and the ruined abbey that o’ertops the scene where these vows were accepted and ratified by her to whom I owe life—more than life ; all that can make life acceptable, what life can never repay.” * * * 1 he dawn of morning ! On a bed of sick ness, of agony, lay Marion Delmar. Writhing in the tor ture of that fell disease before whose appalling might, youth and strength were swept away as glass before the scythe of the mower. Alas, for Henry ! the stern com mands of skill forbade him even to approach that bed of infection and of death. Brief was its awful struggle.— Distorted were the ghastly features of matchless loveliness, but last night beaming with intelligence and hope : the re- sy tints ot healffiwere gone, and that pure color which had marked llirf*” streams ©* vital principle, like violets strewed among’coses on a wreath of snow, no longer na tural in motion, had usurped the livid corpse. * * * r Uj le ten[ i| j a y arrived. The village church was decked with boughs and blossoms ; for the dismal ti dings had not reached the aged sexton, and he was survey ing Iris cheerful work with an approving glance, when lo ! the summons came to prepare an immediate grave. In that grave, within an hour, was deposited the remains of Marion Delmar, hardly attended to their final abode by the dread-stricken living, whom terror kept from the plague- spotted couch, and whom terror slew in their flight from the danger. * * * Not even Henry Sturmond was there to see laid in the cold clay, Iter whom at that very hour he whs to have led to the bridal altar. But it was not fear that de tained him ; it was not despair. The blow had stunned him into utter insensibility; and to have embraced, and kissed, and endeared tite horrible wreck of all he loved, or to have witnessed it hurriedly shrouded and tossed into the foul ground, had been the same to him. Reason was dead. * * * But not for ever. She gradually resumed her empire, and with her came images of Marion full of life, and warmth, an I perception, and thought, arid grace, and love—of Marion struck with disease, tormented, dying, passive, dead,—dead even to his love. “ To-morrow is here,” he exclaimed, “to-monow is here, and she is alone!" » # # The shades of evening had descended upon the jocund grove, the enamelled bank, the murmuring river, the splashing fall, the mouldering ruin, and Henry trod the paths of yesterday, but he trod them alone. “ Oh, God ! oh, God !” he cried aloud in ins agony, “ is there another and a better world ?” He flung himself upon the broken stones, once the tomb of a warrior knight, and scattered near the shrine where kings and abbots had knelt in splendid wor hip—he flung himself down and lie essayed to pray. But his lips were parched and powerless, and his tongue clave to the rool of his mouth. If he prayed, it was the voiceless aspira tions of the crushed and overburthened soul. * * * As if awaking from a hideous dream, he cast a look toward the calm and starry heaven, and, amaze ment! to his sight was revealed a new and dazzling Star, bright, and soft, and sweet, and lovely, serene and glori ous as his Marion, whom it so splendidly resembled in ev ery attribute and quality. “ It is my Marion !” he gasped, “ it is herself. She is not lost! she is not alone ! We are together—we are together forever and forever. Come to me, darling of ny breaking heart, or take me to thyself Come.” * * * In an instant the orb, the new and brilliant lustre of the sky, burst from the sphere, and sunk to the earth, leaving a lo»g white gleam of light behind. It was an exhalation of the air—a vision for the moment, more unreal and transitory titan the mortal brightness which dis tempered fancy had elected it to restore. Prone fell the beer to the dust; the spark of life, like the perished star was extinguished. * * * Were they united forever and forever ? They slept together, side by side, in the same village church yard, and on a single marble tablet was sculptured—“ A Falling Star.” at once I beard a most terrible groan. My hair ris ri»ht up, and 1 thought my heart would a jumped out of my mouth. It wasn’t so loud a groan «s some, but a low, dis tressed, awful s Hind, sicli as I never heard before in my life. I stopped short, for I couldn’t move a step one way nor’(other; my feet seemed to grow to the ground. Tito groan come agin, and the shudders run over me like a streak of lightning. The sound seemed to be it little ways ahead ot nte, and as I looked along, about a half dozen rods, I see a white tiling, about as long as a coffin, laying across the road. I couldn’t feel no skeerdcr than I was before, but the sweat began to pour off of me like rain. T he ’groan come agin, and I was sure it come from the while tiling across the road. It looked about as large as a man, and white enough to be a winding-sheet wrapped round it. I begun to feel it was possible there might be sich thino* as apparitions, and 1 felt like death to think I had hurt aunt Jane’s feelings so much about it. It didn’t move any, but lard still and groaned. I thought at first I would speak to it; but l couldn’t muster courage enough. What could I do? My couiage never failed before—I went back a few steps, keeper my face all the time towards the appar ition , for I couldn’t help feeling convinced now that ‘twas an apparition. 1 could go home another wav, by grin* round nearly three miles—but what good would that do ? apparitions could go faster than I could. I went back a fetv steps farther, without taking my eyes off it—It didn’t follow me, but laid still in the same place. I be<utn to feel my courage come a little—l never was a coward. But I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t go forward, a^d l wouldn’t go back. I picked up a little round store about as large as a lien’s egg, and threw it towards the ap parition—not hard, but rolled it alono on the ground, jest far enough to hit it easy. In a moment it sprung up on eend snd fi ll down again, twice ; and groaned louder than ever. But I minded, both times it fell, it didn’t fall towards me, but from me. After a minute or two, I thought I’d try that motion again. I threw anotherstone. The apparition sprung up on its feet jest as it did before and fell down again with its head from me. At this, my courage begun to come a little more, and I ventmed tf> go along a few steps nearer, onca in a while throwing a stone. The apparition seemed to ba tfraid of me, and every time I lluew a stone, it would ■>eein to jump about its length from me. At last it got along <o a place where the moonshine come down between the fees on to it, and 1 got up within about two rods of it, and all at once my heart was as light as a feather.— It was nothing but ancle John Smith’s old hog, that had got his fore feet both op through his yoke, and was half- ■'linked to death, and could only spring up on bis bind feet and groan. A fiddle-stick take your apparitions, said I, ■nd i went whistling half the way home, determined to hector aunt Jane about her apparitions harder than ever. JOHN SMITH, LSQU1BE. From Ihe Sew York Mirror. ANIMAL MAGNETISM—THE ATPARITION. It was a bright moonshine night, as you will see one in a hundred—’twas in the latter part of September, and the weather was jest about warm enough to be comfortable. ’Twas a Sunday night—I had mv go-to-meelingclotheson, and had been over to see Sally Newhegin, she that’s now my dear wife, at this very blessed moment-. 1 didn’t roar- ty a Smith, but a Newhegin—1 took a fancy to that name, because grandmother used to say, when one got married, they always had to begin the world anew ; and I thought if L could marry a Newhegin, ray world would he already pretty well begun. And Sally was a fine gal, though I say it. And l had to get tip pretty early and set up pretty- late tu, to get her, for most all the young fellers in Smith- ville and near about a score from Downingville was after Iter, one while. But Sally never staid with any of ’em but me, for she always took a liking to me ever since we went lo school together. Well, this night we sot talking in the fore-room til! the old brass clock struck twelve, and then I told Sally that I must go. She said she did’nt believe but what the clock was too fast. So I sot down again a minute, or I didn’t think it was a bit more than ten minutes, when the plaguy old clock struck one. I sprung and catched my hat, and hid Sally good night, and started for home as fast ns I could go. I had to go nearly two miles ; and about half a mile before I got home l had to go by the burying-greund, that was close by the road. ’Twas a very lonesome sort of a place. There was thick woods on ’[other side of the road, and ’twas nearly half a mile to any house. When 1 got along in sight of the burving-ground, 1 naturally be gun to think over who w is buried there; and about one ihat was always siipjiosed to lie murdered—for a good ma ny folks have always thought there’s been one murder committed in Smithville—and then I thought how aunt Jane was once frightened most out of her senses comine along by the burying ground between daylight and dark, and always stood to it she see an apparition. I always used to laugh at her about it, and have made her as mad as fire a hundred times whenever she sot out to tell the story ; for 1 did’nt beiieve nothin’ about ghosts and appari tions; and aunt Jane would a 1 wavs turn round to me when she got through the story, and say, “well there, John, I hope if you live you’ll see an ajiparition.” 1 felt its if I’d done wrong in hurting aunt Jane’s fi»el- ings so many times, for site’s a clever creator as ever 1 vc 1: and then the thought come over me as l got along within about twenty rods of the burying-ground, “ what if aunt Jane’s wish should come true ?” Mv flesh kind of crawl ed a little, but I wouldn’t mind it—apparitions wasn't no thin lint old women’s whims—I clinched m v hands a lit le tighter and walked along—and begun to whistle a little: not very loud, hut a low tone, jest to show that 1 wasn’t afraid. The dark shadows of the woods began to fall across the road lor the moon had got down some ways be hind the trees. It seemed as if the place was dreadful still; and I felt my flesh crawl again. I stopped whist- ing—the place was so still I coutdn’t whistle—-when all From the American Union. THE M O N O-M A N I A C. BY A. AT. ZIQHR12QX. There is no object which the mind can contemplate, 'hat so powerfully and suddenly calls into existence our kindest sympathies and tenderest feelings—or into the un- sappy situation of which we can so wholly enter, as tbs dark atmosphere, that surrounds the “shattered fragments” of a m'ghty mind—the ruins of a noble spirit. Fur my self, whenever I *ee the magic aud fine wrought texture of the intellect and ruptured and riven by the over-strained exertions of vaulting genius or wounded pride, I feel all the tender sensibilities of my nature pulling me down frontar- tlie eyrie height where my vanity had placed me, to a common level ofsufleriug humanity. It is then only that I feel myself a man, that I experience my owu weakness, and that 1 can only appreciate the boasted value of all earthly attributes. At such a moment of calm,dispassion ate reflection, whenevery malevolent passion of theliuman Qreast is, for the time, hushed into still and aciioaless re pose, how many beautiful visions of virtuous imagery, trace their sunshine creations upon the tablets of our wounded spirits! Such a panorma is the ttue elysium of existence—the green oasis in the otherwise sterile wilder ness that surrounds us. We then steal front the world, from its pomps and vanities, aud may he truly said to hold communion with our God 1 Many years hack, in that happy period of simple and unsuspecting youth, wIipu the past presents nothing but the flowery field ol childhood's sweetest dream—the pra- sent the light buoyancy of unclouded hope—the future the cheering landscape of high and flattering anticipation—I got acquainted with a young man, w horn I shall distinguish by the name of Edwin. He was one of nature’s brightest creations. The spirit of twenty souls beat in hia bosom. His humanity and love of every breathing thing bordered upon the ridiculous, and his reluctance to give pain or lisgust to the smallest insert “that creeps in car vveuing oath,” often made him the butt and laughing stock of his more thoughtless and less sensitive companions. He waa •me of the most absent men 1 ever knew in winy cases even to idiotcy. Yet, at times he exhibited a strength of intellect, a correctness of discrimination, and a happiness of conception, that amazed and delighted. 1 have seen him at one time go to a booksellei’s, purchase a new work that he saw blazoned in the newspapers, lead it half way through, laud its contents, and then throw it indignantly from him with a pshaw ! when he found out that, be him self was the author. At another he hired a horse and gig at a livery stable to take a short ride into the country. The hostler brought the carriage as directed, snd left it «t hi* door. Edwin as soon as he had finished dressing, came down stairs, went and procured a saddle, and placing it on the horse’s hack over the harness, actually rode the ani mal in this manner to the end of his journey, the empty vehicle bringing up in the rear. In short, he was learned, eccentric and ridiculous. I am not sufficiently versed in the anatomy of the hu man mind to investigate the delicate conformation of it* organic structure; nor to develope by what cause* ha healthy functions may be imj’aired. Perhaps that inten sity of thought, which is, commonly, the offspring of a vigorous and active intellect, may sometimes be too much for its delicate operations to support; and, consequently, it becomes the recipient of a mass ol images it can no longer keep orderly and distinct. Perhaps a morbid state of the secretions—perhaps But, be the cause what it may, p. few years ago 1 once more saw tny friend a—confirmed mono-maniac. O ! what a wreck of mind and matter did he present! He was no longer the fasci nating Edwin, the companion of my youth, the friend of mv manhood. The transitions of his imaginings were unaccountable and singular. Unless upon the immediate object of hi* mania, his language was coherent and rational ; but tvhen- ■vorth it suing was touched, his wanderings of mind were painfully evident. 1 was imfi.rmed that at one time he fancied himself ti pump, and I'u two we. ks stood upright on the room floor, with his anil extended like the handle of the machine, re fusing to lie down, unless when carried by main force to his bed. As soon as this fancy lett him,he metamorphosed himself into a dog, and fora length of time ran about on 1! fours,steadily harking, bow, wow, wow, to the great annoyance of tlie fimilv. But unfortunately, undertaking co chastise an inti tiding brother of the real canine order, poor Edwin got so wofullv worried, that lie gave up thu idea of dogging it any longer. But this freak was scarcely abandoned, Until it came into liis head tout the dog, with