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BY GARDNER & BARROW. TIIE GEORGIA MIRROR, Is published every Saturday, in Florence, jtewart county, Ga. at THREE DODLARS a year, if paid in advance, or FOUR DOLLARS, it not paid until the end of the year. Advertisements will be conspicuously inserted at One Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. Nothing under 15 lines will be considered less than a square. A deduction w ill be made lor yearly ad vertisements. All advertisements handed in for publication without v limitation, will be published till forbid, and charged accordingly. S lies of Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators and Guardians, are required by law to be advertised in a public Gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of Personal property must be adver tise 1 in like manner forty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate nl n*t be published forty days. Notice that application will he made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Ne proes, must be published weekly lor four months. All Letters on business must be i*os i>a!o to insure attention. JOB PRINTING. (CONNECTED with the office of the MIR- J ROR, is a splendid assortment of \nd we are enabled to exeute all kind of Job work, in the neatest manner and at the shortest uoticc. of every description will constantly be kept on luitd, such as INDICTMENTS, DE C L A R A T ION S, EDBPCENAS, JURY SUMMONSES, EXECUTIONS. (’()ST E XECUTIONS. SHERIFF’S BILLS OF SALE, do DEEDS, L\N'D DEEDS, JUS. SUMMONSES, do EXECUTIONS, MORTGAGES, do GUARDIANSHIP. L ET. ADM l NIST RATION, do TESTAME NT AR Y, And a great many others for Justices, of the Peace. Administrators, Executors. Ac. JERAIGAA. VSALE of lots in this town will take place on Tuesday the 16th of October next. Terms—One fourth cash, the balance in three annual instalments. This town is beautifully situated on a high bluff j of the river Chattahoochee, in the county of Bar bour, Alabama, about one mile below the mouth of ilatchechubbee, and from twenty-five to thirty miles below Columbus. It possesses local advan tages inferior to no place upon the river. The bluff on which it stands is a continuation of the ridge, dividing the waters of the Ilatchechubbee and Cowagkee creeks, affording the most eligible location for an excellent road into the interior of Barbour, Russell and Macon, by which the pro duct of ths rich and fertile cotton lands of those counties can be easily conveyed to market. The road from Columbus to Florence and Irwiuton, "ill pass through this town. Situated below the ■Snake Shoalsand Woolfolk’s bar. which are the principal obstructions in the river, it can be ap proached without difficulty by steam boats at al most all seasons of the year. Indisputable titles "ill be given to purchasers. For the proprietors, JAMES E. GLENN, Agent. N. B. The cash payment may be made by a good paper, well indorsed, payable GO days, at anv Bank in Columbus. Aug. 1G 21 ts LANDS FOITSALE. The subscriber offers for sale the fol •>,r “ lowing valuable lots of Land, lying in a rich and prosperous part of the State, —V | ou very liberal and accommodating terms. Ne. 91 in 7tli district, Randolph. 190 in 10th „ do 127 in 10th „ do 276 in' sth „ do 149 in 2d „ Stewart. 117 in 18th „ do 149 in 29th „ Sumter. 215 in 29th do 32 in 2d „ _ Muscogee. % in 6th „ do 34 in 17tli „ Sumter. For further information apply at the office of the Mirror, or to the subscriber, in Appling, Co lumbia county, Ga. WM. GLOVER. August 11* 20 5t VALUABLE LANDS FOR SALE. The Subscriber offers for sale a vai uable TRACT OF LAND whereon he now lives, lying in Stewart county, ■JL 11 _ one mile and a half from I lorcnce, containing 1,000 acres, of which there is between 200 and 300 acres in cultivation. On the premi *es there are comfortable houses, a good GIN HOUSE, superior GIN and GEAR. Also, a cIRST RATE SAW MILL, which has only i n operation about six months; surrounded uy an inexhaustible quantity of pine timber, near Be veral towns, situated on the Chattahoochee riv er-. The land is rich and level. I have good spring water, and a healthy and beautiful situa tion for a residence. Any person wishing to pur chase will call and view the premises. JOSEFH RfcESE. July 28 18 cots %® 9&, | i, £ •_* 2 • -A 3 W ' 1 ii From the Sunday School Hymn Book. THE LORD’S PRAYER. God as our Father we proclaim. The Heavens are thine abode ; All hallowed be thy holy name, Thou generous, kind and good. Thy kingdom, as the noon-day sun, Wide o’er the world be given ; Thy will in all the earth be done, As it is done in heaven. And while permitted here to live, Our daily bread bestow; And all our trespasses forgive, As we forgiveness show. Lead us not into trials, which Thy servants cannot bear; But send delivering grace to each, As evils do appear. Thine is the kingdom full of love, And joy and righteousness; And thine the power which from above Brings everlasting bliss. Thine shall the glory also be, While endless years endure; And we will sing sweet hymns to thee, Both now and evermore. From the Philadelphia Courier. The Wife. Or, Annette I Vallington. BY MRS. C. DURAUS, Author of “the Eagle's nest," tyc. fyc. When children of the different sex are reared togetiier, they are unconscious of leeliugs that may be awakened at future periods,—innocent ignorant of the passions that time infuses into the human bosom. Such was the case with 1' ran cis Montague and Emma Howard. I bey had been children together, played together, and shared each other’s joys and sorrows. Neither were sensible ot the love that slumbered in their hearts, till the feeling of jealousy was aroused in Francis by the attentions ot Heury Wallington.— The discovery was made too late: Emma had be come the betrothed of Henry Wallington. Henry was a young man, possessing the most fascinating manners and appearance. He arrived in the vil lage of Clapham, where, as a stranger, he received every attention which hospitality could ofler, and which iuduced him to settle there. There is a certain speciousness of manners that will captivate, dazzle, and mislead the strongest minds,—nav, entwine, itself arouud the heaits ot its associates sooner than the most intrinsic woith. Mr. Howard was a man of the world, aware ot the deceits that are daily practised : he felt that there was something about Henry that lie did not altogether like ; lie feared he was not suited tor domestic life,—but rather than thwart one wish of his daughter's, he gave his consent to their union, but sighed to think that she had not bes towed her affection on Francis Montague. It was a cold December night. A social party were gathered round the cheerful fireside of 3lr. Howard; happy faces seemed lighted up "itli smiles; one only seemed to feel distress—F ran ds—-the loved companion of Emma’s infant days; he felt as if he had lost all that life made dear.— Mr. Howard gazed upon his daughter with de light, while his spirts sank when lie reflected that the next day he must leave his happy home (or some time. At the distance of several hundred miles he had purchased land, which he was going to view. The journey thither was lonely. •‘I shall feel much anxiety,” he said, “till I get through the forest of Sherwood; it is very dreary, and should >t be known that 1 have a large sum ot money about me, I may be attacked. “Suppose I were to accompany you ?” said Hen ry “it would afford me the greatest pleasure.” “No,” replied Mr. Howard, “there is a Provi dence above to protects all; therefore .I am un grateful, and perhaps wicked to submit to this depression. Assist me with your prayers, and supplicate forgiveness for my weakness.” Alter the orist us of the assembled party had been sent up to the pure Throne of Grace, the innocent hilarity of the evening returned, and concluded as it had commenced. Eai-ly on the following morning, Mr. Howard set out on his journey, accompanied by the pray ers of his w’ife and daughter. At the close ot the second day he reached the middle of the forest of Sherwood, which he had so much dreaded ; lie had hoped to have got through it before evening, but the day had been stormy, and the ram had fallen in such torrents, that he had been forced to seek shelter occasionally in the woody reces ses. The thunder now began to roar most fear fully,—the earth trembled,—and the forked light nine darted with fearful play its serpent brilliancy around, while its flashes discovered to linn the ruins of some ancient building. I rail as the shelter promised to be, he was glad to have reach ed it; and fastening his horse to a part of the broken wall, he proceeded to explore the place,— lie had not gone far, when he perceived at the end of along gallery, w hat seemed a lemale form; another flash assured him it w’as no mockery.--- She flew towards him, exclaiming, in a solt and gentle voice— , , - , T “Oh, happiness! so fearfully looked for! 1 feared you would not have come—and that would have been a sad disappointment to poor Annette. You know not the joyful emotion the few words gave me contained in the letter I received from vou this morning, the first I received for six months. Oh! how each little letter traced by the hand we love brings to the eye the foim itself. Why are you so silent ? Ah ingrate that I am! I forget the storm; and in my own selfish joy forget how much yon have, suffered in it— Come to uiy desolate, lonely dwelling, which has FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1838. been rendered endurable only by the recollection of your having placed me there. Come, —tlio storm that rages without will form a strong con trast to the peace that will dwell within our breasts, and the solace of a fond wife will banish even the remembrance of our poverty. Iu thy smile, I’ll bury all my sorrows.*’ Mr. Howard felt a pang of regret at being obli ged to undeceive her delusion that it was not her husband. He apologized for having been the in nocent cause of exciting hopes of happiness that might not be realized, and begged of her to give him a shelter for the night. “Willingly,” said she, with a sigh; “'tis but an humble one, and will require philosophy and re signation to banish feelings of dreariness.” She led the way through the long gallery, till they reached oue of the wings of the buildings, a turretted tower. It consisted of two apartments, the only ones which time had spared, so as to be habitable. Annette stirred up the embers, and putting on some kindling, soon made a cheering blaze; its light presented to Mr. Howard the handsome form and features of his hostess. She was very young; her dark eyes were of that languishing softness that would induce a belief that she w'as of Italian birth; and her dark hair fell in rich clusters of curls over a forehead of brilliant whiteness. Her whole appearence and manners scr’***! to render her situation a complete mystery. From the antique form of the few ar ticles of furniture that were strewed about, they had belonged to the castle ere it had been left to decay, and had been collected and once been ar ranged with the greatest taste and care. She placed before him dried fruit, wine, home-made bread, anil some venison. “This is all I can offer,” she saul; “I go but twice a year to the village, which is twelve miles off. When you wish to repose, you will find a bed in that apartment; ’tis but straw, but the weary body feels not the want of feathered dow’n. Farewell! Peace to your slumbers, —I must to my watch. / cannot rest: anxiety aud expecta tion hold their empire over my mind, till exciting hopes have worked upon me in a train aud w ild con fusion has mingled all the trains and feelings ot mv soul into one dark chaos banishing all thought but the task ” There was a wildness in her eye that alarmed Mr. Howard as she hurried off, to again encoun ter the merciless storm. After Mr. Howard had partaken of his simple fare, which tasted better to him than the choicest viands h id done at other Vines, he retired to the be I Annette had prepared for him. Scarce had lie thrown himself on it, when he fell into a sound sleep from which he was gradually awoke by voi ces in the outward apartment. The female voice he recognized as Annette’s and the mans (whom she addressed ashusband) seemed to be familiar to him. “Surely I should know that voice,” thought lie; “but no,-—it cannot be.” The tenor ol the conversation was such as to dissuade him from the thought, as the following words struck upon his ear: “What wouldst thou live in poverty, and be the sport of a scoffing world?” “No! by all that’s villainous, I’d rather rob the prey drained from the passing traveller by the brigand’s dagger, than endure its pitying degradation, which would crush me to the earth.” Annette’s pious answer to these fiendish senti ments lent a calm to the excited feelings of the listener, elicited by the harrowing dialogue: “Why should we mingle in the world, when in retirement we may live in innocence and peace, and laugh at passion’s dark deformities, which only render its votaries slaves of the most abject passions. Let us pray that contentment may dwell in our hearts, and never be destroyed by guilt.” . The murmured reply of the man was too indis tinct to be understood, but was followed by a scream from Annette. Mr. Howard rushed into the room, and found her on the floor. Before he had time to look round him, the man discharged a pistol at him, and befell insensible by her side. ***** The opening of the year did not bring Mr. Howard’s return as was expected. Henry bad been called awav’on business, which added to Emma’s gloom chi the day her father departed.— She and Mrs. Howard began to feel much anxiety, when Francis offered to go in search ot Mr. H., which tender she with many thanks ac cepted. . After two weeks of fruitless search, r rancis re turned. He informed them that he had been to every place where Mr. 11. was to have stopped, but could gain no intelligence of him; but in a neglected building he had found i poor dumb fe male. Knowing their compassions,he had brought her to them for protection. Mrs. Howard, whose heart was always open to the distress ot others, and whose religion was found on the great princi ple. “Do unto others as you would they should do unto you,” w r as happy to take charge of her. “Poor heart-bruised wanderer! what must thou have suffered to have brought thee to such a state ?” said she, as Francis led in a lovely but emaciated fe male, who, from her appearance, might be about 20 years of age. The poor creature had not tasted food for some davs; her senses seemed to have aban doned her,* as she silently and listlessly looked round her, while the tears of sympathy, sorrow and regret fell from the eyes of Mrs. Howard aud Emma, when they reflected on their own misfor tunes and the miseries of this world. “She has no doubt,” said Francis, “been torn from her friends; if we can by any means find a a clue to them, their kindness may be the cause of restoring her to reason, and she may then give some evidence that may lead us to discover Mr. Every attention was paid by Mrs. Howard and Emma to the poor girl. In a tew weeks Heury returned. His attention to Mrs. 11. were such, that upbraided herself for ever having felt the least repugnance to him. Poor Francis continued a desponding visiter, but not a hopeless lover. Like the poor ship wrecked mariner, he grasped at every broken i spar that floats upon the tumultuous ocean, with out a sail iu sight, and the suu sinking to repose, leaving him to bullet with the element, with hope alone tobuov him up. Day alter day did Henry importune Emma to fix some jieriod for their mar riage. “Nay,” said the fair girl, her eyes glistening with tears as she thought of her father, “you sure ly would not have our marriage vows be breathed unheared through sighs and tears? No, Heury, let them reach the Throne of Grace, where they are to be registered, enwreathed with smiles, and let no weeping echoes intercept their passage thither. Let but a few mouths more pass by, and then we will think of it.” “I see,” said Henry, with petulance, “you would wait to see if fortune would not change ere you bind yourself to abeggar.” “Oh, unkind being!” replied Emma, “to think so meanly of me. Think of my poor mother: I am now the liuk that binds her to life ; how would it grieve her at this time for me to leave her, when she must require my solace? I en treat you, urge me no further.” He was about urging her further, when Elmi ra’s voice was heard singing the following stanzas: Take back the hateful ring, nor, oh! let weeping angels view it, Your vows were false! your heart untrue, and oh ! too well you knew it. “What strain is that ?” said he. “’Tis only our poor forlorn one; she often sings that plaintive sketch. Alas ! it is the only one that reminds us that reason ever had a residence in that lair form. Have you not seen her ?” con tinued Emma. “She is a most interesting crea ture. Even in madness her affection endears her to us.” Henry seemed greatly agitated; after a few more words, and promising to see her in the eve ning, he took his departure; he had been gone but a short time when Francis was announced. “1 come,” said he, “on a subject that I fear may not prove an agreeable one, and may lay me open to suspicion. I fear your approaching union will not prove one of happiness.” “Forshame!” exclaimed Emma, “your jealous feelings urge you to injustice.” r “No,’’said Francis, “it is natjealousy! I have weighed well each circumstance; love or jealousy have no share iu the feelings by w hich I would guard you from danger. Friendship’s bond iu early days lias entwined so strong a chain around out hearts, it has bound me to you so that death itself could not destroy it; for even then I'll watch aud guard your memory from assailing foes that wouid insult it; had you ere been wedded to pol lution iu the form of Ilemy Wallington!” “Francis, 1 must not, will not hear such lan guage; when you learn to respect my friends, 1 will be pleased with that friendship of which you boast,” w as the hurried reply of Emma. Francis, in a firm voice, proceeded—“l have denied all hope myself, aud have cast aside all selfish views; so sincere is my friendship that I incurred your displeasure rather than risk that you should encounter everlasting misery. This is a mysterious advertisement; I have brought it to you that you may make inquiries before you act precipitately,” saying which he handed her a paper from which she read the following : If any person can give information respecting Henry Wallington, they will be handsomely re warded. Said Henry \Vallington is five feet elev en inches high, dark eyes, black hair, high fore head, handsome face and person; a scar ou his left ear, his manners are very insinuating aud bland. “It is very strange indeed,” said Lmma; still this does not imply crime." “No,” said he, as he was departing, “but there are enemies who will destroy his reputation-, lor your sake I would guard his; I would not pain you for the world; no blush need rise to check so pure a feeling as exists in my bosom ; I know you to be an affianced bride, and in that knowledge every other passion sinks, save friendship.” The evening came, and Emma anxiously waited for Henry’s expected visit; but she was doomed to be dsiappointed. At night as she sunk on her pillow, tears fell, the cause of which she could scarce divine. She thought of her father and mother’s former happiness, and asked heiselt it such would be her lot? She feared not Henry’s petulence and violence, but he has met with mis fortunes—thought the unhappy girl—which have caused his irritability. Then, her mother! to leave her! what in a strange land can compensate for the disinterested affection of a parent! is there a substitute ou earth ? No ! a husband s kind ness may soften the misfortunes aud soothe the rugged path of life hut nothing can obliteiate the feelings and uflcctions of early days, in a woman s breast” Who can forget the look of fond mother that has watched and prayed to heaven in the midnight hour, to assuage each pain her infant felt, the remembrance of such tender scenes must dwell on the mind till it becomes a chaos. While these reflections intruded on her imagi nation. she wished that she had not been betrothed, yet honour, and, she still hoped, love, forbade recal; one step to dishonour leads to another— Had ilenry of late been as anxious for her father's return? had not his ardour for it abated, while Francis’s increased? She did not wish to think so, but thoughts would rush in to haunt her mind, and torture her with the image of perjured vows. Such reflections took possession, till dis turbed slumbers relieved her from them. In the morning, as she was watching Elmira (as they called the poor wild girl,) weave some flowers into a coronet—a*note was handed to her, when she read as follows: Dear EfcMA—l must apologize for my ab sence; yet why should 1 ? Absence is the best boon the poor can bestow; therefore I need uo other; wealth lights up each face with smiles, and ptoves a mirror for all around. I have much to say, but will not be able to see you before to to-morrow. Yours, for ever pledged, H. Walungtoß. As she was perusing the note, Ehnira stole be hind her to place the coronet ou Emma’s head- Vol. I. — N©. 24. j her eye glanced on the note, she seized it with phreuzy, her eyes wandered round the room, and she gave oue loud scream; reason seemed to re turn to its bewildered seat, but in the struggle life ebbed aud flowed; one fainting fit succeeded to another, till at last her constitution triumphed, and she sunk into a deep slumber. Consternation so completely overw helmed Em ma, that as soon as Elmira aw oke from a sleep that seemed to have shed a calm over her distractions, she ictired till she could recover herself. Mrs. Howard watched all day, aud was preparing to re tire for the night, when she was informed that a person wished to speak to her immediately. On going into the drawing room, she perceived a man wrapped in a large Spanish cloak; she re treated in alarm at his appearance, when he turned round and she beheld the welcome face of Mr. Howard. As soon as Mrs. Howard’s joyful feelings were sufficiently trunquilized, he related his adventures in the ruins; and that he was borne oil' from there to the sea during the time that he was insensible, from a wound he received from some unknown hand, hut of whom he had his suspicion; the villain, after robbing him, had put him on board a vessel that took him to America, where he was landed on a part of the coast twelve miles from any dwelling. His sufferings had been great, but they were all forgotten iu the hap piness he felt at being once more in his own home. As Emma had fallen alseep, her lather contented himself with viewing the features ot his child, rather than disturb her till morning, when Mrs. Howard alluded to the engagement their daughter was under to Henry, it appeared to give him much uneasiness; “I cannot divest myself of a strange feeling 1 have towards that man.” said he, “and a resemblance of his voice to that ot the woman’s lluoLona, du.uiu atUl freshly Oil UIV Car.” Before retiring for the night, Mrs. Howard, re quested liim to accompany her to see her patient. She was surprised on going into the rooni to see the window open—she went to the bed—Elmira had fled ! In the morning, Mrs. Howard being anxious to communicate the joyful tidings to her daughter, entered the chamber; all was still; she called her—no answer was returned! she went to the bed, and on the pillow, instead of her child's smiling features, she beheld a letter directed to her; she opened it and read as follows: Dear Mother—The vows you sanctioned, I am about to pledge, for the secrecy and haste I have to ask your forgiveness. Only one thing could urge my leaving you, which is the hope of seeing my father. Henry has discovered where he is, and Igo to meet him. I hope ere long we will all meet. Your affectionate daughter, Emma. Surprise and horror overpowered her on read ing the letter. She listened to hear if her sen ses deceived her. No joint! laugh resounded there! no plaintive strain came murmuring by! there stood her harp, uo hand to touch its strings; its chords were silent, no fingers there to waken them into melody, but yet they seemed to say “forget me not.” Her paiutings lay upon the table in loose disorder, as expecting her to return; each inanimate object Seemed to speak, farewell. A boquet, which she had plucked the day before, lay upon the table, its leaves were beginning to fade, emblem of the being fled. One only flower remained unchanged a small “forget-me-not.” The stillness of death pervaded all things. At length her presence of mind returned, and she has tened to her husband, to impart to him the villainy to which their child had fallen a victim. They lost no time in discov ering which way they had (led, and ere the sun was one hour high, the distressed parents were in hopes of beholding their daughter. in the midst of a cluster of trees was erected the village church, around whose Gothic windows twined in rich festoons, nature's beauteous deco rations—-its walls, dumb w itnesses ot many a tale of joy and sorrow’s doom, were covered o’er with moss. At the altar stood the venerable minister. As Henry led the trembling girl up the aisle, her agitation overcame her, so that she at last sunk senseless into hi 6 arms. “Have you none to help you, son ?” inquired the reverend father. “Here, place the lady on the cushion, and fetch some water from the font.” Heury did as he was desired, aud had the pleas ure to see Emma open her eyes, upon which he. requested the good father to proceed. “But have you uo witnesses ?” inquired- the priest. “ Yes!” said a voice, ere Henry bad time to rc ply. A dreadful pause intervened. Emma looked up and beheld Elmira at her side. Heury stood horror struck—his speech forsook liim—cold drops stood upon his brow—his knees bent under liim. “What ails you ?” inquired the priest, “shall we proceed ?” “Hold! hold !” said Mr. Howard, as be enter ed the aisle, “save my child! save her!” In a moment his child was in his arms, and by her siffe he beheld, to his astonishment, the maniac girl. “Yes’tis she! It is Annette! Is there none to secure that fiend?” said he, as Ilenry made his escape. ‘Oh spare him! spare him!’ said Annette,falling ou her knees, “he is my husband ! let him escape; I will watch him; he shall do no further harm hurt [him not, arid 1 will bless you, pray for you! I saved your life— save mine, for if he dies, I die too. My brain has been on fire; I saw the gulf of perdi tion before him—l wept—l prayed—mv prayers were heard, lor he is no murderer, and I can now go down to my grave in peace, so that he dies not ou the scaffold.” Mr. Howard felt too grateful for his daughter’s escape to inflict misery on Annette. The joyful party returned to their home, where they were soon joined by Francis, who added to the joy of the domestic circle. Poor Annette, without a home, paused before the church, as its closing portals shut her out, she knelt, and prayed, and as her voice ascended to heayeit, the name of husband, mingled wfth.