Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

BY W.M. JEFFERSOX & CO. VOLUME 3. ’ THE PLANTERS’ WEEKLY PUBLISHED AT G-reenesboro*. G-a. W. M. JEFFERSON, ) ROLIN W, STEVENS. S Proprietors. FRED. C. FULLER. > TERMS.—TWO DOLLARS A YEAR ; OR ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY o£2*TjS IN ADVANCE. Bates of Advertising. • Advertisements inserted st the rale of dollar per sqaaro often lines °r loss, for first linj fifty cents for each subsequent insertion, ThflSe nbt shirked with the number of inser *i will He mihiiStied until forbid and charg uo.. ed at these . .. , „ . „„ .... contracting Tne following are v. to.. RATES: 1 Sq’r Six months 87. .one year 2 “ “ “ 11.. “ “ 20 3*. “ “ 16.. “ 28 i column 6 mo. 20.. “ “ 35 4 • 6 *• 30.. “ “ 55 a 1* (j <• 40.. “ “ 70 1 •* 6 “ 50.. “ “ 80 Advertisements from -trangerp and transient n jrsons must be paid for in advanec. Legal Advertisements Sale of Land or Neirroe#, by Administrator.*, executor*, and Guardians, per square, ?5 00 t Sale ol Personal property by Admioisiratora, _ j executor*, and Guardians, per nijuare. 3 50 | Notice • > Debtor* and Creditors, 3 5o j N'dice.for L-.aVe to Sell, “* Citation for Letters of Ad ninistration 2 75 j Citation for Dismission from Administration, 500 ; Citation for Dismission from Guardianship. 3 io j The Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do not give express t o tice to the contrary, ate considered as wishing to continue their subscription. iJ'lf subscribers order the discontinuance of their newspaper, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 3 Ts subscribers neglect nr refuse to fake t >r newsp pers from the office to which they j •••• ihreete ‘. they are held responsble nnlti | fwy ha m settled the bills and ordered them j discotif'.iu 1. f. ff sn‘>acvib ’S remove to other places witho it ri'* , reife t g,th*’ publisher, and the, news papers ‘.re sect to the former direction,’ they * e bel ! responsible. ■5. Ph-* <-'ur‘,s tiavi (foci* and that refusing to take no sp pers from too cffic>, or removing mid !->*vng them uivalbid tor, is prirna facie evidence of inbifiuiiil fra ‘-i. <5. TV; 1’ dted *1 tutus Courts have also,- re -1 •*,.dli and that a Tost master who neg -1.. 1 *ts t,o ic-form Uis dnt’ of living reasonable l iticu, >s v-qutred Fr the Post Office* Dopait p,-u*, o r tn„ neglect of *t verson to take .rtrn tun *’ffi newspapers nq lr. sse<l to him. rer !- j evt *lO D ‘stfca.it r halite to th< publisher tor . f e subscription p.’lW. UAH B S . r JOHN O R E ID. ATTORNEY AT LAW, junel’s9-ly. G reenesloro, Georgia. ROLIN wTsTEVENS, ATTORNEY AT LAW, \ Greensboro’ Georgia. WILL practice in the counties of Greene, Baldwin, Putnam, organ, Oglethorpe, Taliaferro and Hancock [Feb. 2. i w 59-<f.] UNITED STATES HOTEL, MNo. 232. Broad Street, AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. DWELL & MOSHER, Proprietors *>. DWELL j J. MOSHER aiedtfcal Card. T HEREBY tender iny thanks to the public for kind —Al y bestowing on mo heretofore, a larger shar • of oatronage than I anticipated, and again offer my pro jresaion*.? aarvicea to auy who may give me a call. When not professionally engaged, I may be found ‘"‘wu!iX 1 " 1 ’ W L BETHKA, M. P dentistry. OR. If* FT. Surgeon and Mechanical Deatist, Pcnjieltl , Georgia, %nrOVLD inform the citiiena f Greene r ! ad joining counties, that he is prepared to perl rm any operation pertaioisiff to his prolossion.witbneat iatasa ana dispatch. He will insert from one ‘o an en tire -et of tr.-ih It tabu intention to please He will be in/-eeueaboro Qe Mcndav, Taesd.iv and Wednesday of w-uak und ir. I‘er, fir Id the remainder of hi* tin c. Any call from She 1 nmtry that may be tendered . him will meet with primp*attention. He refers to . Dr. John B Murohy of Rome —|Jeb. 39. ISfio. FRESH FRUIT, Tomatoes. Green Corn. Beans Ac., IN WINTER Y AVI NO been appointed Agents for MASON'S PATENT SCREW-TOP, SELF-SEAL ING, GLASS FRi'IT JARS, We are prepared to furnish them at a lower p.ice than heretofore. ■Tlmm Jars speak for themselves” and are considered by those who htvi used them. THE BEST AND MOST RELIABLE FRUIT JA RS IX MARKET, being made r GLASS, they will not corrode, and are free from other objections urged against the me- SotLB WnOLESAII AND KST AIL Bf PLUIRBAL nwmt May 2,1860 2m. Augusta, Ga. lILANRS of all kinds nestly printed st this yffi<-e, at short notice and on reason able form*. A Weekly Jetseaal—DeYeted to Home LHeratace, Agelealtare, Foreign aad Bomestic New?, Wis, Imaor, &c. M £ 8 G I LLAKKQPS. Tlic Merry Time of Old. They say that learning’s light has spread, A happier time around, And tyrants’ power has well-nigh fled From out her hallow’d ground; ‘Tis trne that superstitious sway Few votaries now can claim,. And pass’d like childish dreams away Each once dread mystic name; But Mammon reigns in every clime, And millions ho\y to gold, Jfar more than in the merry time, | The merry t>me ex eld! And calculation’s coiduess then Was seldom, seldom found, ■ But impulse nobly guided men, And warriors trod the ground. Sneer not, it had a noble claim, When-youuis were taugf.t 10 wield The sworcl that flashed In honor’s name, And stand .as honor’s shield ; Then maiden’s praise and poet's chime Rose highest when they told Os noble, deeds that crown'd the time, The merry time of old f From the New York Century. PERSONAL DETAILS OF JOHN RANDOLPH.* Virginia, July 18, 1859. In the ‘ Old Convention” ot 1829, which had assembled to revise the. Constitution of Virginia, there was n member whose ap pearance attract -d and fixed the attrac tion of every spectator. lie was a man ot nearly sixty, but looked older. His face was almost the color of parchment, and*beneath the thin, gray brows rolled a pair ot keen, penetrating eyes, which burned with a strange brilliancy*. He was clad iu mourning, with crape upon his hat and on Lis arm, and when some one asked him, ono day, it he had lost a friend, he replied, ‘No, sir, l am in mourn ing tor the Old Constitution."’ Sitting a part from the other members, and resting liis hand upon the head of his stick, which he passed up and down from time to time, in a measured and absent manner, he seemed to take no interest in the proceed ings of the Convention, ami for along time did not open his lips. One day, how ever, the citizens of Richmd might have been seen hastening to the Capitol, in which the body belli its session. From every quarter the crowd j.wufed in eagerly scaice .uifiwer any question. The. explanation ihe hurry and curios ity was contained in the wonts passed from mouth to month, tin ugh the streets ot the town: “John Ran lolph is speak ing.” Such was the public curiosity and strange interest fell in this singular man, by his owu fellow-citizens of the native soil.” What was tie source of it ? Many persons were as famous.. The Convention embraced two ex-Presidents—Madison and Monroe—Chief Justice Marshall, and a dozen other men of wide celebrity; but when these gentlemen spoke, the citizens did not hurry thus to hear them. It is true that when the venerable Madison rose to address the body, his associates crowded around him, to catch the%whis pered tones of his feeble voice; but the general curiosity to bear the orator of Roanoke was greater even than this. It arose front the singularity of the man, far more than iiis wide fame in the coun cils of a nation. A late writer called bun, with more point than truth, • the abortive child of talent and notoriety,” but this was only a portion of the pU taf*. The public might have beer, attractea by his “talent,” and stimulated to curiosity by bio “notoriety,” but his personal traits were the real causes ot the general inter est. liis persoji was a siaudug theme for gossip; every movement which he made was watched and commented on. His well known and striking career dwelt in the memories of all, and would have made him the “observed of all observers,” but in addition to all this, behind nil lay the man, John Randolph—a human being un like any other person of ins time perhaps ol all time. Let us glanco at him apart from his political caieer—recall some of the peculiarities of his person, his manners and his habits—and notice, iu passing, an anecdote or two which illustrate bis char acter. They may serve to present the orator ui Roanoke as he lived and moved, and the picture, rigidly true to life, as it will be, may not prove destitute of inter est and value. Let me introduce the brief sketch I de sign making, with a contrast. Over the fireplace ot *ue of the apartments at Roan oke. hung, not many years ago. the por trait of a boy of twelve, by Gilbert Stuart. In the rosy complexion, the bright plump checks, the laughing eyes, and beautiful lips of theimy, you saw and felt the fresh charm of youth, the innocence and sweet grace of childhood. One who knew the original once held up his bands and ex •ln a former sketch pnblisheJ in The GrfSTUKY the writer of this article spoke ot some early scenes in the life of Ran dolph ; the design here is to collect some personal traits and details of his latter I dav* GREENESBORO’, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY MORNING, JUNE 27, 1860. claimed, “I never saw such a beautiful boy !” His skin was peculiarly thin and delicate, and the warm blood played visi bly beneath. In the happy eyes and in genious lips, every emotion was distinctly revealed. Such was Randolph at twelve year&ofage. What was he at fifty, or even forty? I examined his portrait some time since with melancholy interest. The keen eyes fixed coldly and steadfastly on the beholder defied every attempt to read the thought of the brain beneath. The hair parted in the middle and gathered behind the ears, had lost the youthful gloss of old days, and was stiff’ and intrac table. The bright cheeks had become ittllow and shrunken. Those tw*o terrible enemies, and’ fnisfbrtune, had marched over the countenance once so blooming and beautiful. They had trodden down the flowers in the rosy cheeks—ploughed jtuesmooiu forehead into heavy furrows; and in those deep furrows, they had sow ed the rank seeds of suffering and care. Bitter tears had dimmed the bright eyes once so brilliant: midnight agony groans had wasted the round cheeks—between the smiling portraits of Gilbert Stuart and the picturel looked on of the aged man,, there was scarcely any resemblance to be discovered. John Randolph so beautitul in youth,’ with such high hopes and bright thoughts of the future, bad become thus in time, and from sickness and suf fering, quite another being—a sad and sorrowful figure—the mark jests or wonder—of pity or admiration, or dislike. His figure, like his face, was full of singu lar eccentricity. Tall, angular, thin as a shade w, he. resembled rather some ghost from another world, than a veritable be ing of flesh-aud blood. His limbs were wonderfully slender, and the fashion of-the time served to display this peculiarity to its fullest extent. He were small clothes so tight that they seemed to be. a part ot his person; and tiilfsnow-white stockings, fastened at his knees by a small gold buckle, fitted as closely as the cuticle al most. Over these, and reaching about midway the calf, were a pair ot course, country-knit yarn stockings, or “hose,” as they were then called. His shoes were of the ild revolutionary fashion, with huge buckles—his coat ample, and but ton and tightly around his slender, woman like waist; his chin half buried itself in the folds of a great white cravat, and the dry fiaxen hair surmounted by a fur cap. The movements of this singular figure were ns unique as the costume. In walk ing, Randolph followed the Indian fasb ion, placing the foot straight in fiont—the toes inclined neither inward nor outward. A fanciful mind might have attributed tins peculiarity* to his Indian blood, for he was descended in the seventh degree from the Princess Pocahontas. Moving, quickly and slowly, by starts, with head thrown back, and the keen eyes sparkling beneath the rim of his dark, far cap, often muttering to himself, to wake suddenly to a consciousness of tbe world around him, ■stride on rapidly to his lonely apartment —this singular figure was eminently cal culated to attract the attention of every one, w'hether it moved over the familiar court greens of Virginia, or in the streets of Washington or Loudon. In both of these cities ho was the “observed of all observers.” The metropolis of England, where physical peculiarities and eccen tricities are met with incessantly, could furnish nothing* stranger than the form of the orator of Virginia. In Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia and Richmond, he was the mark of all eyes—to be point ed out with the finger. Boys often fol lowed him, but rarely laughed, or indulg ed in those practicle jokes so congenial to the mischievous minds of youth. They trooped after Randolph, as one who wit nessed the sight declares, “in silent curi ous wonder.” This notoriety annoyed him, but led to no alteration in his cos tume. His clothes, like his principles, seemed a part of him. He felt doubtless as the great statesman of “Marshfield” did, when he said that he could more eas ily change his political convictions than the mode of wearing, or the fashion of his shirt collar. Randolph doubtless clung to his eccentric mode of dress—tor he was always far behind the fashion in a portion cf his costume—from bis intense attach ment to every Virginian. His old neigh bors still adhered to the sashing of tbe past in a great degree ; and if among these he could wear his swallow-tailed coat, with lofty collar, when the mode was fautailed with no collar at all, why should he not do so in the streets of Washington or Lon don ? He bad a keen relish for all that Was characteristic of bis native soil, aud in travelling followed the old fashion of his colonial forefathers. He always made use of his private vehicle—either a coach dragged onu ard by tour blooded horses, or a sulky drawn by a fast trotter. He was generally driven by Jupiter, bis body servant —“Jnba” was bis familiar name; a warm-hearted and faithful retainer, who loved bis master with extreme affection, and clang to him in sickness and health, in jcy and sorrow. On a par with his singularity of dress and personal appcaruce, were the man ner of speaking, tone ci voice, gesticula tion ib public addreas, and habits in gen eral of the individual. His voice was high-pitrbed, and under strong excitement rose to a shrill key, which pentrated to the furthest limits of the greatest crowd, and was heard above the loudest uproar. 1 liere was a satirical and ironical delib eration in the shrill invective thus utter ed, which produced a curious impression upon the listener. Onco heard in his mo ments of cold passion, if I may so speak, Randolph was never forgotten. The use which lie made of hie long, thin forefinger, is well known. He would sometimes stand for several moment si perfectly silent, with his penetrating eye riveted upon the per son whom he addressed, or of whom he spoke, and the ghostly finger aud long angular arm moving slowly up aud down —when those who wore familiar, with his habit knew that, lie was selecting and ar ranging in the depths of his mind the very words and turns of phrase of the sarcasm or invective which he designed. Many aneccEtes ai'C routed of the effectproduced by tlie voice aim finger— -ag when, aftera violent denunciation of his character aud career from a young member of the Koils© he rose quietly, and stretching out his arm, 6aid in calm, indifferent tones. “Mr. Speaker, who is that gentleman ?” It .was impossible not to be interested in his speeches, for they were exquisitely choice in their phraseology ; and no.sentence passed his lips which Lad not first been fiamed and polished carefully, so to speak, in his mind. Often his gestures were dramatic and expressive—as wheu lie ren dered up his public trust, after the old Convention of which I have spoken. “It is time for me to retire and stand before another and a higher tribunal,” he said solemnly, “where a verdict of acquittal will be of infinitely more importance than any from an earthly tribunal. Here is the trust which, you placed -in my hands twenty-eight years ago”—then stooping forwards and extending his arms as though he rolled a great, weight toward his hear ers, -‘take it back ! take it back !” he said and mounting bis horse without further words rode off. Throughout his entire life, from the day iu -March, 1799, when he mounted the rostrum from which Pat- * rick Henry hod just descended, to his sor rowful death in May, 1833. his peculiarities of speaking, acting, dressing, and living, attracted universal attention. The flan nel dressing-gown in which he went on the field to fight Henry Clay, is still in existence, with the mark of the pistol ball under the arm. The particulars ot this affair are so eharcterislic of the man, and present him in a light so amiable and at tractive, that they may fitly find , a brief space iu this sketch : The night preceding tbe duel, General Hamilton went to see him, when Randolph said to him : “Ham ilton, 1 have determined to receive with out reluming Clay’s fire ; nothing shall induce me to Win a hair of his head. I will not’ wife a widow, or his children orphans. ’Their tears would be shed over his grave ; but, when, the sod of Virginia rests on my bosom, there is not in this wide world one individual to pay this tribute to mine.” The eyes of the speakei till.ed as he thus inferred to Ins lonely life, but be soon grew composed again. In spiteof Hamilton’s remonstrance he adhered to his purpose, requesting his friend, however, not to inform Colonel Tattnal, his second, who lie feaied would take the studs aud refuse to go out with him. Hamilton, however, informed the Colonel, and at midnight they went to gether to Randolph’s lodgings. He was reading Milton, and commenced an en thusiastic criticism upon the passage yliicb engaged him. Colonel Tattnal soon came to business, and opposed strongly the design of his principal not to return Clay’s fire. A compromise finally resulted from Randolph’s declaration, that if lie saw ‘'•the devil iu Clay’s eye.” and any “malice prepense” to take his life, he would return his fire. They met on the next evening, on the banks of the Potomac, just as the sun was setting “behind the blue hills of Randolph’s own Virginia.” - While Colo nel Tattnal was loading Lis principal’s weapon, Hamilton approached aud took Randolph’s hand, in which he says, there was “not the quickening of one pulsation.” Randolph then said, “Clay is calm, but not vindictive.” I hold my purpmse in any evant; remeDber this.” To bis se cond he said, as the pistol with the hair trigger spring was presented to him, ‘‘Tattnal, although I am one of the best shots in Virginia, with either a pistol or gun, I never fire with tbe hair trigger; be sides. I have a thick buckskin glove on, which will destroy the delicacy of my toueb, and the Jrigger may fly before I know where I am.” It happened as be expected ; but at the second fire be dis charged in the air, whereupon Mr. Clay hastened to him and exclaimed, “I trust in God, my dear sir, yon are untouched ; after what has occurred, I would not harm you for a thousand, I would not harm you fora thousand words.” Thus ended tkis famous encounter, in which Randolph assuredly acted with noble feeling. This circumstance, doubtless, went far to dis arm those bitter enmities which he had aroused by his career on the floor of Con gress. But to return for a brief space to the personal details which were designed: It was In his retirement rt Roanoke, far away from political turmoil, and among bis old neighbors that Randolph lived the more pleaaant days of his life There lie read and wrote, and mused, with the rniurmur of the forest in his ears—in the midst of a solitude almost, for a large part of the time. paid great attention to fiis correspondence with those bosom friends whom be loved long and faithfully. I saw some years ago, a paper writen by him, in which he lamented that he and liis dear friends Mr. ‘Tazewell had grown to twen ty without knowing each other. He had lost all those.years, he said, of his friend’s society. On this correspondence he lav ished all liis thoughts and lei&uie moments. It remains in iarge part unpublished, spite of the two volumns of his lifo by Mr. Gar land ; and I have often read the colored letters to an old beloved friend, with deep interest. The love of reading disputed with this fondness of writing. He read everything, from works on divinity and elaborate books of history to novels, plays and poetry, liis favorites were the “gods of song”—Homer, Shakspeare and Milton, of which lio imported exquisite London copies. In the “Iliiad,” Hector and not Acinlles, vaUfib! favorite. When a mere child he was Liken {Crib? Bermuda Islands, he says in one of thooO old letters to which I have referred, where he read she. “Tempest,” in the midst of the scene; which the master-mind contemplated when he wrote it. This sojourn in the lovely islands, lost far av*nv in the Atlantic, lias been little considered’; and yet it must have strongly influenced the poetical and imaginative child. We may fancy him stretched on the sod beneath the great palmettos with the orange and pomegranate clustering around, and reading the Caliban and Ariel where once the former rolled on the yellow sand, ana the gentle spirit soared beneath the moon. No one had a greater zest for poetry. It was his lifelong delight—if anything disputed it, except his correspondence, it was licraldry.-*- Randolph was born with a natural and ingrained feeling of c<z.i?e. He never was and never could have been a Democrat.— His ancestors had ruled in the old colonial days, and he was jealous erf all which ten lied to obliterate the lines of distinction between himself and the mass. He could never endure Mr. Jefferson’s “levelling doctrines,” and inveighed against them bitterly. One of his favorite Looks was the “English Peerage,” and his familiarity with it was very striking. His own family he, traced back step by step, in a little MS. hook, to Ratmepli or Rulf, a leader of the Danish invaders of Franco in the dark ages. In placing so much stress upon blood and decent, he was only fol lowing the dictates of his his training and his position. He was the last of his branch of the Randolphs, and thought with bitter distress of its probable ex tinction after all the splendid past which it. could boast.- Thus he clung to tbe claims and honors of bis race with intense tenacity, and grew at last to be a sort of master of Ravenswood, greater and more noble in his own opinion, for this isolation and in the depths of his lonely weakness dowered with all the glory and digninly of the past. This sentiment was no doubt fostered by the. high social position and great public services of his kindred, but it was in bis blood wben he was born, and grew with his suffering and misfortune.— Delicate, nervous and sensitive, it might almost be said that ho indeed exhibited the indications of what is technically cal led, ‘blood,” in animals ; that, unfitted for tbe systematic and regular toils of life, he yet accomplished what none but the racer can accomplish. On those public occasions when liis unique endowments astonished the world, lie gained for himself an immense fame, and proved of vast ser vice by bis watchful opposition to parties in power; but, to return to the simile, what a weary raccc was his life ! It was full of feverish triumphs, and prostrating languor. He was alternately disgusted by the struggles of the political arena, apd by liis lnneiy retirement. Washington harassed and wore out his energies—lie craved the solitude of Roauoko. Roanoke wearied him with its silence and ennui— be looked again toward the sceno of his triumphs. It was his fate to fight to the last, however. He died in.harness almost. When he raised his voice, against the Proclamation, his long fight was ended ; he had spoken his last word for the rights aud sacred altars sf the Sovereign States ; and was soon laid in his grave at Roanoke. He died in Philadelphia, m May, 1833, worn out in mind and body, and far from bis beloved Virginia. That be passed away from tbe world in .which be had beeu so unhappy, with the comfort of a certain faith, i verily believe, after a full consideration of every circumstance. Thus ended the career of a very extra ordinary man* whose life and character must always present to the thinking mind a carious problem. The singularities of the great orator grow upon the mind, and are of inexhaustible attraction. This at traction is sad but profound. No person age in our national annals has left npon the minds of men more distinct impres sion of his mental and physical character istics. Hundreds of anecdotes remain of him, but they arc often so doubtful that I bave refrained from repeating them in a sketch which aims at rigid historical ac curacy and faithfulness. Tbe omission J may disappoint some of tlioao who read ’ these lines,expecting amusement and food Terms— sl,so Always in Advance. foi laughter; but others will perhaps feel satisfaction at the absence of such matter. Those floating bon mots, epigrams and sarcasms, ill authenticated for the most part, and often very bitter, would prove of little interest to the thoughtful reader. Much more averse is the writer of these lines to gay employment of his subject for tho purposes of amusement. He disdains to lay bare the shuddering nerves of this famous and unhappy man to the mirth and ridicule of the thoughtless crowd. Thera was little to amuse, in the jests of John Randolph. They were tho utter ances of a man whose mind aud body wore both cruelly affected, and should fill us with sadness rather than mirth. No jaugh ter accompanied them when they were ut tored, unless it were tho triumphant ap plause of those wl*> hated the object ot .his sarcasm. The sharp and penetrating barb upon tbeh brilliant tips struck deep and fostered, arousing rage and hatred, not amusement. I prefer to let them rest in the obscure newspaper, or the idle jest book, and leave the subject of the life and character of John Randolph, as I approached it, in* a mood of grave reflec tion, most becoming iu the student of his career. Turning away from nil such things, I look upon him as so many of those good men whom Le wounded did when lie had passed away—with charity for his faults, aud dlie recognition of the lifelong-servi ces he rendered to the constitutional rights of all the States. He had much to sour and embitter him—sickness, suffering and terrible, misfortune. Black care rode ever behind him in that feverish life-race which he ran, and tho incubus never van ished. Ho sleeps after many sorrowful and distressing years—after heart-burn ings, tears, and divers woes which lacked him cruelly ; let him sleep in peace. The two great pines which stretch their arms above his grave in the Roanoke woods, are the solemn guardians of his ashes. J.E C. Mistakes of Physicians. Oliver W. Holmes (physician, philoso pher and poet), in a lecture upon physi cians, gives the following account of some mistakes which have been made in medi cine : / Sooner or later, everybody is tripped up in forming a diagnosis, i saw Velpeau tie one of tho carotid arteries for a suppos ed aneurism, which was only a little harm less tumor, and kill his patient. Mr. Dense ‘ of Dublin, was more fortunate iu a case be boldly declared an abscess, while others thought it an aneurism. He thrust a lan cet into it, and proved himself in the right. Soon after, he made a similar diagnosis.— He thrust in his lancet, as before, and out gushed tho patient’sliloo’d, and his life with it. The next morning Mr. Dease was found dead, and floating in his blood. Ho had divided tho femoral artery. I have doomed people, and seen others doom them, over and over again, on the. strength of physical signs,and they have lived in tho most contumacious and scientifically un justifiable manner ns long as they lived, and some are. living still. I see two men in the street very often, who were both as good as dead in the Opinion of all who saw them in their extremity. People will in sist on living sometimes through manifest ly moribund. In Dr. Elder’slife of Kane you will find a story of this sort told by Dr. Kane himself. The captain of a ship was dying with scurvy, but tho crew muti nied, and he gave up dying for the*present to take care of them. An old lady in this ,city, bear her end, got a littfo vexed about a proposed change in her will; ,ordered a coach; was driven twenty miles to the house of a relative, and lived for fouPyears longer. Cotton Mather tells some-good stories which he picked.ug by experience, or out of his looks, showing the unstable ‘equilibiiui of prognosis. Simon Stoue w.as shot in nine places, and as he Iffy for dead the Indians made two hacks with a hatch et to cut las head off’. He got well, how ever, and va,s a lusty fellow in Cotton Ma ther’s time. Jubez Muse rave was shot w'tli a ballet that went in hi* eat* and dame out of Ir.s eye on the ctherside. A couple of bullets went tlrrough his bony also.— Jabez got well, however, and lived many years. Ver contra. Col. crack ing a plum Btone with his teeth, broke a tooth, anil lostj.is lifo. YVe have seen phy sicians dying, like Spiggellus, from a scratch'; ar.d a man who had a crawbar shot through his head is alive nnd wcll.— These extreme cases arte warnings. But you can never be too cautious in your prognosis, in the view uueeitainty of the course of any disease not long watched, and tlie many unexpected turns it may take. A Disinherited Daughter liighicd.— -On Monday last in the Surrogate’s Court, at New York, tbe will of tbe widow of the 3 late Bt'.pbcn Whitney, the millionaire, whose death occurred a few months ago, was admitted to probate. Mrs. Whitney leaves £6,500 to her nieces, and all thej*est of her property to her daughter, Enieline Dore, wife of John Dore. Mr. Whitnoy left this daughter com pari lively a small portion of his cstato, which is propably the reason she lias been so lihcfttlly provi ded for by M’ Whitney, NUMBER V 2G-