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Lucy was silent, but Gordon watched her i varying color, aud ho requireu no other an swer. In liu. hour was cenlcioti the files sedaes* of all her life, auii e» oil F.Mtesl thought not of Iter and *nger as ho g«/.“l 0:1 the dark Ilium 01 he lainfi’tlt eyes ninth, j like ,• r f.ithlui heart, reflected hack his I image. A Ins! why is it, that love aud death J su HUM irA on e nth ? _ l ■ We shall lAun it iu a ffl* santH \V* m they sof»>iafe<l dt av*ii eowt**V-*ck w ith *«*< they of LonJou prove 100 string I n bin-” ••That were scarcely possible now,” said Gordon, with a glance at Lucy, which sent the eloquent flush to her very forehead, and mad • her visions of the night happier than they hi.il ever becu. CHATTER 111. That moment's pas«Hig blc ssedness, Repaired a life of tool's ; And hruficj the chain of.-i ent grief, Wi ilch bound uer brigbtelat years! It was morning in the city aril the limn of human voices floated nu the am. lint the sounds broke gently tlnoutli he rich cminins which ndt'ined a :.i;.ff sct spleu dn’lv ovtiop'i' >1 < tiiiiur. in ii t ol the n t iiausion of'l ii cap t rep iuliugs and Itaii.in staleu U s giiicr il tl.r room, anil on a low. luxurious conch rcste i one fairer even than the fuircst vision of the artist’s dreams. The mood of the Indy was an uncommon on"; for tears were in her eyes which had lo tg been strangers to the C'ou ntess of Ly - sh ! On the table bes de her lav an open letter, ail in lier hna 1 she held a minia ture, on which she gazed with more than a hti ration. Its features were those of a vu.tn; lit i (some man. and the original must h ive been deeply l.elored indeed, when th* resemb'aaco Alice deemed so pirsirms. A'iii an 1 again *he pressed the effigy t > Its: lips ; an I then resting her head on h-r ar n wYtle the lull? ringlets swept unhee ded over it, she wept wildly and bitterly. r V.*» Ir tier O.YU3wli fit. 4 £licf, aii ( tt was this .' *•1 In not upbraid you, Alice ; the time is ■past when confi leiice in your tenderness gave me a right to reproach you for a cold tie is 1 believed assumed. Your conduet I have long thought strange, but now 1 have proved it heartless. Yon said you hived me, and I trusted in tin confession ; I view that also a a sheer act of coquetry. That 1 l)3ve felt fir you something even ninre than love, it is needless to inform you. But your own haughty indifference has now converted into unalterable pitv. for tom weakness and stability, all die devotion 1 once laid so lavishly at y our feet. You have forfeited the respect, without « hi< h lore is valueless ; and it would he hypocrisy in me to pretend still to worship an idol, whose divinity 1 deem forever lost. You are mis taken, sadly mistaken, Lady Alice ! if, by the course you are pursuing, you expect to 4 it.lint lie admiration of honorable men ;--- beauty and wealth may command the fl.d teiy of the crowd, but dliey alone can never secure the sincere love of a proud and lofty spirit. That gift wil 1 never be offered on the aliafofotje who is as destitute of rc g id for the'feelings ofotliers, as she has proved herself treacherous to her own! Jf you would win the affections of a noble heat you must e> ei.cise more of that considera tion and sympathy, .which only ran obtain it. I wish you all happines, Lady Alice ! though our destinies are severed. If. in after years 1 shall hear of you, changed and chastened, as 1 trust you may be, I shall still rejoice i.. the memory of our early friendship, farewell, forever!” •‘•lie is gouemurmured Alice wild ly ; “the only one I ever loved, lias left mo forever. What now to me is wealth, it can not restore his constancy ? What care I for rank without his love ; and what is fieau jy to me when he prizes it not? All; all viva worthies-, and 1 am desolate. The pangs 1 have inflicted on others, are visit ed on myself; and the despair 1 hnve heap ed on s> tniy, is now crushing me to the dust. My advantages are as nothing now; 1 would give them all, to bring back the pure and lio'y spirit of the love 1 have lost. Oh ! lie hasffim from tny heart its last, best hope, and blighted the promise once im planted there ! Fortune, friends and life arc dear ; but they are nothing ; less than nothing, when deprived ol the oulv nbiectof a soul devoted feel'.ng ! Oh ! that wc*could lose our being with our bliss! Hut it may not be : the load ol life >vi|l still oppi ess us ; and unless memory and reason should be lost iti iikiensibiiity, we must beat" our fate with woes unutterable !” Thus io the agony of a proud heart's first sorrow Allies gave way to the wildness of her With an inconsistency not unusual in selfish characters, Alice loved at last with a depth and intensity of feeling, know only perhaps, to a haughty, scornful spirit. Hut habit with her had become a second na ture, and she carelessly trifled with the heart she h.. 1 won. Soli was still the centre of iteri...pulses, and the love gained hy beauty, was lost by vanity. “Do you intend calling on the Countess of Lysle ?” asked Kruest, as Walter and himself were sc.oed in their apartment at the hotel at LutiiiOf) • “I do not,” answered Walter, sadly. “The Countess has, doubtless, lung since forgot ten that I ever crossed her pathway. .Snail you visit l-.er. Ernest !" “No, ’ said (Jordon. k M has been many mouths since we mat; and l camvn hope to be remembered, when the poet who prais ed her is forgotten.” Walter did not reply, and his sudden ab straction prevented his perceiving the scorn ful snfde on Ernest's lip. Could Alice have read the ham ts of her lovers, she "null ind red have n) n t rr.c.! the pride which hud produced bitterness and si cih in the j ■l. tiv and sorr, w and despair in the ovhi r. | -• 1 i■ l l approached,’ aid Gordon stood | ' > l*M * ' ot.us, listlessly g..zi ,r f ro .„ ,] (C j wi rl.’W o*i t|,,» street below, who.. .tanv.ini I ?• ; s,:u l presented u not *. Ji i OiJtumcd I t;i oi words •.niit.-'.u iti pencil: 1 have t!ds in :t;i and heard that you are in town and ioumd h rving to-i’uorimv ; will y 1 1 V'\ l U <v i lon ttiiiiout seeing uncut your Cl ’ 'St lii 1 ‘lldi No na.ne was sigr.t il, for the writer had tru ,t<*! t i tlso m onory if t’ie addressed, ai.fl ]: • km*- but too weii the, fair cha.'aciciSof A'tct j hunt. “toe time is past for ,i ’urn like this to r.taru me,” uruttered Gordon. vl will not give her tlie ttiumph she expects. " As I alter a • omenl's uanse. as the softer feeling* of other years < ante back to him, he aufel, “Terhaps it were wiser that I a,io ’ I i|«t Ico't n; on that face again ?“ ’ Approaching the tab!u Ernest wrote a few v Js and eat. isiug his eu and. directed it to thu Couittp.ss if Ljsh ; he then tore her no.cinto pieces, Walter started in surprise, from his reverie, as Ernest raised the wiu «Jjw- „-*ferc'l the fragments la ihc . ir' and then, with a flushed brow resumed hist I id'e employment. Had Walter known whose i hand traced that paper, he would indeed h ive marvelled at bis friend. Such a sum mons would have be ,- n eu-hriaed in the iu i.ormosl revss Miif the poet's heait. It was with recovered calmness, and in a spirit widely different from the morning's agitation, that Alice approached her mirror after having written to Fruest. wtli surely coiiu%l’ s-ml she; “fori Snijiiot one to b i refused !” And a smile of triumph, as she gazed on her image passed over her almost faultless face. Her recent grief bad subsided, as she looked with confidence to the renewed a tloration of her recalled admirer. The hours passed, and still lie came not ; an i Alice began to fear her invitation had , not been received, when an answer atlengili trrived. “I regret .tlir.t an engagement this even ing with my friend, Mr. Veie, and my ear ly departure tn-morow morning, will <le prive me of the honor of waiting upon the Coontcso* Lyslc.” In a paroxysm of wounded pride and dis appointed vanity, Alice threw the note fiom I her. exclaiming . ■ “He has forsaken me also ; and has scorned j the bind,sc -1 her whose slightest courtesy once was not unwelcome. Waller, too is here aiain, and has past nte by, like all the rest ; he too lias lorgntlt n me !” The nig lit was far advanced before Alice soui'ht repose. Her dreams were strange and fearful, and the pale, passionate face of the injected poet stole upon her slumbers, like a spirit from the mournful past. The following day found F.rnest and his friend igain at Walter’s dwelling. Lucy looked more wasted than when they parted ; a few days had evidently increased her dis ease ; but she was vety beautiful, and a smile, long a stranger, played around her joyous lips. Walter, as usual was alone in his apart ment ; and her mother, after cautioning Lu rv not to sit too long at the open window, left t''e lovers together. •‘Walter u ill go with ns to Italy.” said Ernest, after nrinnging many pla* s lor the t'liuue. “liis health is suffering from tlie life he leads lure; and the holy associa tions connected with that land of song will recall his early enthusiasm.” “Ilia anxiety on my account oppresses him,” siid Lucy ; “lint I am fust r«*covenng an ! [ am too happy to think ol danger, ' She smiled as she spoke; but Finest ga zed uyon her. and a'l other objeets were lost in the as cred contemplation. The mnon'ight shine full on her transparent face, and gave it that clear, unt.a oral fair ness which contrasted strongly wdii tie burning circle on her cherts. Ernest drew her nearer to him, as if he would not now, for an instant, be separated from one who uasso soon to be taken from him forever. Lucy seemed to divine his motive, auJ she continued calnilv “l have never thought death so terrible ---it is not more so than any oilier liual parting wiili those we love. In truth, there was a time when 1 looked upon it as a relief; but thru was long ajo ; before you returned here, Ernest.” Ernest fixed his eves on her in unutter able fondness, as the secret of her early and l.tire)). lid love was unconsciously be trayed in the last setitenee; but he did not reply, and Lucy continued : •‘lt is a fearful thing to believe, that when vve leave the earth, we shall leave also tlie memories of those whose love vve held so precious, and that we shall lie forgotten by the friends we deemed so constant. Iliad that thought once, and it made me very sad ; but latterly sinae I have been with you, it has entirely passed away. Yen will ten ember me—will you not, Ernest ?” ‘•Do not speak thus, dearest,” said Gor don ; “why talk ofdeatli, my beloved when life promises so much of happiness ?” “Because, at this moment, when I ntn so happy, I fancy death is nearer than life ! ’ answered Lucy, in t low, sad tone that fell like a prophesy on Ernest’s ear. “It cannot be !” exclaimed Ernest pas sionately ; and while he spoke lie forgot how vain were the hopes he would cherish. •‘lt cannot he, Lucy ! \on are so young, that the mild air of Italy will vet res.ore you, and vve will return blest, and b'essing all around us. We have both known sor rows—but that hour of ecstasy---the hour of your returning h. tilth ; will’ repay them all J”. He paused lor an answer ; but Lury was shout; and the haul? be pressed was cold and .still. lie passed his arm round her waist, and her check rested on his shoulder. “Are you cold, Lucy ?” he asked.— “Answer me, beloved !’’ There was no reply ; and the form he held, lastitil in ire heavily against him. With trembling engerness, he gently raised her on his arm. Her face was turned to wards the moonlight.; its slight color had faded, an I the features worn calm and mo tionless as the chiselled stateue ! “Speak to me. my Lucy !” he said, ns a frightful thought came over him •‘Say but one word to comfort me!” There was no sound ; but an alteration was visible on her countenance, and the lips slowly parted. Ti»se indications could not be mistaken. With a shudder, Ernest laid the gentle form on the couch where they had beer, «i*ing, and wc | ovcr knelt lx c blu the th ol! Months passed, odti the name of Ernest Gordon was her aide I in the papers of the day. as a distinguished popular leader in the House ot Common's.’’ A melancholic change came over the spir it of Waller. The death of his ister, f o |. lowed sqop alter by that of bis mother, had severed the strong ties which bound him to eurtli and he shrunk from the obsci vatioti of man. To him the world was a chans;) and the evnncscents of time anil sense had lost their Inil hold upon his affections | lie no» sedulously shunned society, and retired to a lonely abode, v here visitors nev er intruded, and wj: i be lived in t»ie strict est solitude. Although, at times, in his wanderings, he appeared rim ng t!:e per,pie o' thcnerrhbrrhnud, yet he never noticed or accosted any' one. The day' was syste n ati ally spent in stern devotion to li,s stu- an.) when‘lie moon was bright, he sought relaxation in sweet cuminuuam with the solemn night. Mis singularities at long’a made litm an object ot’apprehen.ion to the simple-minded inhabitants of- ; for they had heard him rave wildly of his early disap iointments ; and it was whispered that n bistro mo blight fur reason, occasiou a.ly licit'* lup hs I irk spiritual eyes. As they nighf'y pars' and his quiet habitation, tney wot! I I vaguely hint at some mv>terious cause for his seclusion, and point in terror to the pale lamp which shed its fitful glim merings from the b iseiueats of the wretch ed solitary ! A year had rolled away, when a stranger crcsse.d the threshold. It was the friend of his youth who broke the solitude of his Lome. From that hour, he was jnitsed from his accustomed haunts, a«d the light of the student’s il welling was extinguished forever! A simple marble column, inscribed with the name of “Walter V ere,’ mark* his rest ing place ; and ou it is carved a laurel wreatii the vain reward of the high a-puaiiocs of the gifted, yet disappointed i'uct. J. T. L. From the Cola abia .South Carolinian. . ADDRESS OF JUDGE EARLE, To John Adams, convicted of the murder of Mrs. M’Voy, on ti e rejection, by tbe Court of Appeals, of the motion lor a new trial. (Published by request of the Bar ) John Adams: The series ol events, J which maik the latter period of your life, with an iaterest so awful to youiselt, aud so j painful to others, is rapidly drawing to a I close. The verdict of a Jury, selected by/ yourself, from whatever motives of expected kindness or favor, have heard your cause, ! and have established your guilt. I: only ! remains, that I, as the oigan of the law. I' should pronounce its judgment, and l}r.t« another of its other is sliuuld perform liitf liual duty, and you will cease to be number ed among the living. The tragedy, which you have enacted, has few parallels. The whole course ot the narrative, from your first appearance, to your last deed, presents a succession oi de bauchery and crime, revolting to the moral si use of mankind, vv hit b, for the honor of our nature, is seldom met with, in any Christian country. The unhappy being, who has come to a violent death by your hoods, has been sent to her long account, with all her sins upon her head, reeking with tlie vices, which you had aided to fos ter and confirm; without time for repen tance, and it may be, without ground of hope. Whatever may be thought of the tmlioly connection betwe n you, she de served other treatment at you hands. You came here a friendless stranger, and she took you in. She afforded »ou shelter, and Induing, arid food. You not only partook of her hospitality and kindness, but enjoyed the last proofs of her attachment, fu re turn for all this, rhe seems Otllv to have ex pected, or desired, the comfort of your society, and the assurance of your protec tion. By no houest labor, did you add to the scanty stores of subsistence, which she allowed you to share ! by no kind offices, did you endeavor to shield her from harm. Humble as were the accommodations she afforded you, they were equal to your wishes, and beyond your deserts. How was she re warded ! You shared her lowly roof and lodging; you ate of her bread; you drank of her cup ; and you slew her; In the very moment of fancied security, and of expect ed kindness, when she was reposing, or about to repose her head upon the same pillow with your own, and supposed, how ever sinful i“ the eyes of Heaven, and de grading »n the eyes of the world, was the connection between you,that from you, at h ast, she would meet with favor aud regard; in that moment you raised your ham! against her! By repeated and long continued violence, in the midst of her shrieks and eries for mercy, you wounded her lintxi death! To this picture, sketched with the’ severity of truth, fancy can add no coloring; to this plain narative of facts, fiction can add no incident, that would enhance your guilt. In the darkness and silence of that night, so full of present evil to her, so fraught with future woe to you, could you suppose that such a deed would escape detection ? Per haps you imagined, as natuae was at rest, and a deep sleep had fallen upon all around you. that there was no eye to witness the deed; no ear to hear the shrieks of pain, and cries fur mercy, vainly addressed to a heart, dead to human feeling. How frail are the hopes of the wicked ! Even then, there was upon you, the eye of one. never to he named without reverence and awe ! whose vigilance never sleeps for the evil doer. That eye was upon von for detec tion here, and for punishment hereafter. Had not a train of circumstances, which al ways tracks the guilty, exposed your crime on earth, before that other Court of your final judge, there i onid be no escape. From the instant of committing the fatal ac‘, your punishment began. Were you to live a thousand years, you would carry, with in yot , the worm t 1 at dieth not, the fire that is not quenched,— that guilty con science, which would bring before you, at all times, ami in all places, the image of your murdered paramour. It would haunt your visions by day, and your dreams by night. On the ocean, and the land; in I tie!.! forest; iu crowded ways, and in lonely places, tire image tiuit murdered being would bo present Wuß jou; her eyes' would glare upon you! And if, by anil.'ll' ediiess, you steep your senses in forgetful ness, you would only awake to keener re morse, and sink to deeper despair, from which you could alone be saved, by an Al mighty hand, prompted by a spirit of iovc, equal to bis power. It is not for us, feeble and sinful, to spec nlaie on the, structurenf God's government, or the principles on which his punishments are awarded. In that apartment, where your crime was committed, there was a sacred volume—alas! that it was so disre garded ; which would have shewn you that murder is stamped with the divine auger in all tuna. You would have seen, from the curse of the first born son of sin, that there is no rest on earth, for the sliedder of Idcmd. Had your eye dwelt upon those precepts of piety and godliness, which im urc'fs the volume with the seal of its divinity, the wr»!h of angry man might have been turned away, ntio f*'C arm of the slayer been stayed But Providence, for its own wise [imposes, ordained otherwise. Asa signal proof of its displeasur*’, against a coarse o( life so indecent, and imniorm, !.* seenipd fir, that vour paramour and your self should both close n life of riot, lewd ness. an I debauchery, by a sudden a-nd vio lent death ; she. by ypur hand, and you, by the hands of the executioner. It was fit, after being your companion in sin, that she should become the victim of your anger; and that, for taking her life, you should pay the forfeit of your own. God grant that the warning may prove effectual, to those who survive ! On earth you have now, no hope. You may be assured, with the certainty of truth, that, on this sine of tlie giave, the cates of mercy are closed against you. I beseech you. therefore, to employ tho brief space of time which will be left you, in an earnest and unceasing effort, to obtain pardon from the Diviae Being, >nto whose hands the Courts of this world now consign you. Beauty. —There is something in hr tty. whether it dwells in hum.m face, in the penciled leaves of flowers, the sparkling surface of a fountain, or that aspect which genius breathes over its statues, that makes us mourn its ruin. I should not envy that man his feelings who coulJsee a leaf wither, or a flower fall, without some sentiment of retrret. This tender interest in the beauty a nd frailty of things around us, is ouly a slight tribute of becoming grief and affection; for Nature iu our adversities never deserts us. She even comes more near to us iu our sorrows, aud leading us away from ihe paths ol disappointment aud" pain, into her soothing recesses, allays the anguish of bleeding hearts, binds up the wounds that have been afflicted, whispers tbe meek pledges of a Letter hope, anil in harmony with a spirt of even halier birth, points totli.it lu>mt where de cay aud death can never come. For. Tilt: Mil-IVOR. IMAGINATION. “The skies of lialy were never more beautiful.” exclaimed my companion, as we walked ‘ortli into the cl;.»r moonlight a few e< est ugs and wended our course to wards the green banks of the Cbattnlu ochee. It was in truth a lovely night. The stars shone fimh in millions, and the moon, calm aiul serene. *ll6lll the even tenor of her way’ in the mi dst ot the glittering I smiled in placid beuevolenee upon the sleep ing world below. The air was filled with aroma from a neighbouring grove ol Flaw- Frees in full bloom, and the sotr music ol a flute, whose mellow notes were aitnosilost in the distance, floated in delightful cadence a roil'd. The stillness and solemnity of tbe hour heightened the interest of the scene, and wrought our hearts into a delightful unison with the sacred influences that si lently pervaded every portion of the atmos phere around us. It was now past mid night as we strolled carelessly along o e of our rural stree.ts in the direction of the river. My friend was one of those, who having in early youth giveu full rein to the imagina tion, and by reading novels, created a mor bid appetite for romance and fiction, rarely listen to the sob.-r workings of reason and experience, and who on that account are ! wholly unfit for the ordinary intercourse of i life, but who in an hour like the present, would charm you with the bright creations of his fancy, and conjure before your vision, images of love and beauty. Conversing as vve walked onwards, we soon reached the margin of the noble river, that sweeps majestically past our youthful city, and seated ourselves upon the green sward ilia' spread itself out like a carper around us. After remaining thoughtful a few moments, listening to the murmuring of the waters, and gazing upon the delightful scenery of the earth aud sky, hung out iu softness and mellow grandeur before us, my companion again broke silence and said in a soft and musical voice, “I know not why 't is, that in all my wanderings by sea and land, 1 hive never before felt sueb'aspiritjof ’■otnagee ;rj cotuoa upon me at tho present moment. Standing on highest cliff of the Catskill mountains, anti looking down through the flying clouds, upon the varie gated earth beneath, I have hud lofty and even sublime imaginings. And when in a freak of rashness, I have stood under the cat tract of Niagara, between the rushing waters and the wall over which they dash with from jndoits lury, feeling-of an inde scribable and almost suffocating nature, rtVercame tne, aud an awful sense of God’s Almighty power and the sublimity of lfis •mirks, together with triy own utter nothing ness. sided my bosom with the most over whelming emotions. 1 have stood upon the deck of a ship when old Ocean was roused, and the waters had been lashed into fear ful commotion Ly the power and violence of the tempest, when the blackness of night was rendered more visibly hideous by the foaming and sparkling crests ot the moun tain billows; and when our stately vessel, with every sail close reefed, was driving along at a dreadful rate, now straining to master the giant wave, and now plunging in to a chasm, with a wall of death ou every side around, striking terror and dismay even into the stubborn soul of the sailor’: dinging to the ropes that entwined around the masts, ami expecting, every moment to become■» prey to the howling elements, I have waited the coming of the terrible catas trophe, with a calmness and resignation at which 1 have ever since wontiered. 'Lite thoughts and feelings that wear suggested o my mind, while surveying that awful and hideous scene, made too vivid an impres sion ever to be erased only by the hand of death. “In the indulgence of my rambling and restless propensities, J have been a witness to a thousand scenes that conjured up within in**, thoughts and feelings of an elevated mid romantic character ; but would you believe it, my friend, fanciful and castle-building as you know me to be. that in my own narrow room, shut up alone, with no furniture around hut shelves and mu ty tomes, and no light to illumine my domain, but the dim flickefiiigs of an expiring cfiniile, 1 have revelled in'the mid.-, i of scenes, more gor_c o::s and sublime, than any that have met my real vision, ShJ on such occasions, the emo tions that agitate me, are deeper any more lasting than if tlie scenes were real? I was enjoying a revelry of this descrip ion, when you interrupted me, by calling at my room a few months ago. In imagination, ] had just then been witness to a magnificent ban queting scene in the the palace ot the Gods. There were Jupiter and Mars, Mercury and Apollo, Bacchus and Cnpidun, Jur.o and Micetva, Ceres Pallas, Vesta and Venus and a thousand minor deities, vCgaimg them selves with the luxuries of the celestial realms, ’while 1, poor erring mortal, was mingling unnoticed in the throng, listening to the “music of the spheres,” and sipping nectar from golden gobletsthat olt’times had been breathed upon by the cherubic lips of Venus and Diana. The interminable hall in which this vast conclave of celestial beings were assembled, was altogether too magnificent fifir human language to depict. Yon blue vault of heaven is not more gor geous than the canopy which hung suspend ed from the lofty ceiling directly above the "loaning table, around which on velvet couches the happy deities reclined. Fora long tunc l feasted my enraptured vision with this niagnifieient constellation, but the mortal lineaments of my face, at length de tected ray presence within the sacred pre cinct, and then one universal bu/z arose, in which the only words my confusion allowed trie to detect, w ere, “presumptuous mortal, whence obtained thee permission to enter the gates of Paradise ? The thundering tones of Jupiter's voice were next heard calling upon the culprit to advance. With trem bling steps l approached through the open ing circle of won Bering deities, and pros trated myself before the throne of diamonds, ttpoti iv ,ich sat venerable J upit 'r crowned with olive branches, ard - holding in one hand, a thunder holt and hr the other a sceptrel of cypress. In this humble pos ture T was permitted to remain, nutila coun cil had been called, and a short deliberation held in order to determine what disposition should be made of me. Soon however l was commanded to rise and listen to the decree, which was pronounced in a clear, strong voice by Jupiter himself. “Mortal, it has long been a.source of contention among the Gods which of them has most power to con trol the actions nnd destinies of men. A favorable opportunity is now presented, to determine the contest. Each thcrcfoie will • in succession exercise their power upon vuu, aud should you be enabled to resist their individual and combined influence you will be pronounced worthy of an itiunortal tty amongst us, aud be given a separate do minion of vour own. over some portion of til principle. - o nature. But ilyuu be over tome by the power aud witchery with which you are assailed, you will be lilt tied head lon e from (lie hatlleiuei.ts < 1 lu avert, into the sin-polluted atmosphere whence you derived your being”, Tl<i< beieug said he waved luS sceptre ami launched a thunder bolt at my lu-ad With a concussion that s!;o.<k the mighty temple to its foundations, the fiery boll sped from hts hand. But it harmed me not. My «.lk cravat had proved an excellent conductor (or the subtle fluid, aud 1 stood unscathed. Next came the God of war. He spoke of ambition,ami “rank and titles and hon ors, ’ and promising an immortality of fame, offered to place me in command ot a veteran army and lead me to victory and conquest. But having worshipped at Castaiia's Fount, and quailed its ciirystak waters, the career of a wanior and the glitter and tinsel of kingly pomp failed to kindle my ambition. Then c ane the effeminate and jolly God Bacchus, his countenance glowi lg with lire fumes of wine, ami with an overflowing goblet in his hand, he used his utmost towns of per suasion, to induce me to partake of the flowing liquid. He spoke ot drowning dull care, an I healing tbe pangs of unrequited love. But being a member of the Temper ance Society I spurned his wiles, and slrm k from his hand, the Lethean dose. Next came Apollo, formerly banished from Heav en for killing Cyclops but now reinstated in his former glory. He was accompanied by the Nymph Terpsichore, and while Apollo sent forth delicious strains of music, Terpsichore danced around me, ami eti cl.autingiy invited me to join the voluptuous wa'tz. But li ivinsr never been taught by the polite Frenchman, “to tread the mazes of the mystic dance ou light fane-' -tic toe,” 1 declined the honor. Mercurius whisper ed in my ear the dangerous advice, to steal a kiss from Venus' lips, ami urged me with his matchless eloquence to pilfer the ar rows of cupid, promising to find means for my escape. But my innate modesty aud sense of moral honesty, bade tne ibspise the proffered means of escape. Little Cupi don, the laughing Gud of love himself came next, and fixingr a quiver ,o iiis bow. he touched the string and drove one of his keenest darts into ——■ his mother's breast. lln I once b 'ea deceived by a woman, am! my hea t was like adamant; no woutfer therefore, that the arrow should have glan ced from its object, and penetrated the too susceptible bosom of Venus. It was her turn next. Smarting wi ll pain and acting tinder the influence of tl;e sentiment thus imbibed, she flew towards me and folding me in her lovely anus, impuutcd a burning kiss upon my brow.—Overwhelmed with hei caresses, I was actually struggling with my fortitude, and was about to y ield the contest, wlrui yo>.r friendly voice, calling upon me. to take a walk, recalled me :o earth. But the vision lias not yet altogether faded; for even now. Ir.ee tho gilded dome if.l up t-•i'ii palace, shining in lolly grandeur, b yoiui t :e curtain of stats that limits the vulgar vision, am! uiethinks l hear tbe dulcet sounds of heavenly music.” With tlicre words my imaginative friend fixed liis eyes up m the firmament, and sank back upon a tuft of violets that gently raised their modest heads in the clear moon light to catch a drop of tbe morning dew that nature had begun to distil for the ben efit of tender plants like th* se. Waiting tbe termination of liis fanciful revery 1 fell into a profound slumber, and while lie dreamed of reveling with Gods, 1 dreamed of wandering with millions of other ghosts as forlorn as tny own amid the regions of Tartarus. When 1 awoke, the dawn of day bad begun to streak the east whli its silver lines, and my friend vas jabbciing to me iu an unintelligible jargon that 1 took to be the language of the Gotls. It w s with difficul ty 1 persuaded him that he was not holding a Lett; a tele favorite muse Calliope, and so deeply imbued was be with the spirit of his vision that I could only hrdug him to a sense of his being an inhabitant of this nether world by pointing out to him as the light grew stronger, Squire Avcretf's field front across the river, the boat landing on the left, the site when the bridge will so“r rear its stately proportions, on t he right, and just in rear, blocking up our prospect of the town, that noble building yclept the "Loafer’s Hotel.” IRIS. Buymg a Hat. —“ Mister have ve ever a palm hat?” Yes sir. “I wad he a:ter purchasing one; an what will ye ax?” Nine shillings! but tlint bates the devil entirely—l cun I<l buy that same four and sixpence a while since!” O, wait a while, till summer is over and you may have this for that juice. “True fur ye. but what will rover :ho head of me the wl ile ? O, by the pow. rs I’ll fix i'— sotha; n ithe of us wdi be chain d—l’ll take the hat just uow aud >*’y you when the price is down.” A.tSubs“futr- —Gen, Daniel, passing by a “fntluel at Portsmouth, the fellow com plained that he warned a pair of shoes—'Tis fit that yon sir should have a pair, said the General. Thereupon lie takes a piece of chalk and draws out a pair of shoes U|on the sentry box—There’s a pair of shoes for you, said lie anti goes away. His back was no sooner turned than the soldier chalks out a man standing sentinel and then goes l; s w; ,y. 'p] IL . g Cnf m!y after waß surprised to meet the fe'llDw in the street, and enquired with several threats how he came to leave his post. •Sir’ said he. 1 am relieved.’ ‘Relieved that's impossible, at this time of day. Who relieved you? ‘One that will not leave his j>o.st I’ll swear’ replied the soldier. ‘Hereupon the old General goes with him to the place. ‘There sir,’ says the fellow il I atn to look upon this as n good pair of shoos, you trust own likewise a very good sentinel.' A Contradiction in Desires. We are for lengthening our span of life in general, but would fain contract the parts of which it is composed. The usurer won!.) be very well satisfied to have all the time annihilated that lies between the present moment and his next receiving d:n\ Tlie politician would be contented to lose four years in life, could he place tilings in the posture which lie fancies they will stand after such a revolution of time. The lover would he glad to strike out of his existence all tlie moments that are to pass away before tlie happy meeting. Thus as last as our time runs, we should be very glad in most parts of •ur lives, that it ran much faster than it does. Several hours of the day hang upon our hands, nay, we wish away whole years, and travel through linie as through a country filled with many wild, empty wastes,’ which we would fain huriy over, that wc may arrive at those several little settlements, or imaginary points of rest which are up and down iu it. f’F V. T? in; t? (k £ •-> —* v.*' U u ti. THE PRESIDENCY^ Martin Van Duitu aud Ilcnry Clav » tc supposed to be the most prcliiu-ert eat dates for this, the highest lionc-r, in the i Ki of the American people to bestow; and it history «Ld not teach ns that he 'who basks in ti e sunshine of pej ular f. ver to day, may experience a | a i:,| r<vci» e to-morrow, «e would not enter into and contest, but b' pelers'y yield up tl.e election to our political opponents— lor vve cani.ot east our votes iu lavor of ether. Even now, hwever, whilst many are ccngtttnl:.. ting themselves upon the anticipated success of tin ir favorite, dibits are maUiim in various sectionsffd' the Lniofi.to bring ia*'- to ti e field others, and they may pove equally formidable, candidates for the Pres idential Chair. In Georgia, tbe state Rights patty, true to their print q Iris, oppose all whose oj in ions conflict with tlieir local iustiititiotis and whose la'ituflinatian doctrines In.ve' made a rich and fertile country, with a population as patriotic as it is intelligent trbui ary to the manufacturing interests of the Northern States. Who then will they support I It has already been sugges ted (a'-d with that suggestion vve coidiallv coincide, j that they should put in nomin ation one who, l'.otvv ifh»ta ding tl;u j,; s prospects of-uccess are, a present, neither so brilliant as Henry Olay’s, nor so (latterii •• as Mr. Van Boren’s, yet he is m.e, whom fame is the In a>t ol his .State, a< and whose feelings and ; rinciples are identified with the interests of the South. We allude to G for ok M Troup. For the party to occupy an honorable position—-one 'fit m which they should not be driveu. At a proper time, let the patty asnnble in con vention. nominate an electoral ticket, pbflj-. cd to vote for G forge M, Taoi'p, is President of the l iiiitd States, and uc will venture tho prediction, that success will crown their efforts. Sho'.ld the position which tie have ass lined be assailed, wc arc prepared ut sustain it without resorting to argument so illogical as that advanced by those who diffi’r vvitli tts when they :ts;er' of “two evils vve must choose the least.”— -Kccorcfn. From the Ansvsln Senthul. T' e pertinacity with which some of the Van Buri ii papers in the South attempt to fasten upon every opponent of the administration, a connection of some sort, with the designs of the abolitionists, has often excited ottr indignation, \fjth the recorded fact before our eyes that Mr Vau Burru himself hits voted under oath agnnst the admission of any state into thv Union, which tolerated slavery, and for the conti mance cf fire negro suffrage in New York, it is not a small tax upon our patience to hear his friends herald him forth ns the peculiar friend and cham pion of Southern lights and institu tions. Among those editors w-ho have been most foward and pertinacious in their attempts to abm-e the public mind at the South, is the editor of the Na-hviite Union, the organ of the adminislrMinii inTeiii.es s e. lit? has for some time j ast. btcti abusing John Bell, Judge White, and o' her distinguished Southrons, and charging them vvit'i being leagued with the abolition ists, because, forsooth, they are opposed to the immaculate Van Burcn. It now turns out that t/Vds vt.nj editor himsrlf is c:n abolitii.vist , and one Lon of the worst or der! He came to Tennessee, or rt'lhtr w s imported into that State in February last, to become the champion of the ad ministration party. He became so noisy about abolition, that suspicions began to be entertained that he himself might not hs altogether uuta iitcd, and upou being sc ettsed, he acknowledged that while he was I lie editor of New Bedford (Massachusetts) Gazette in 1837, lie Fail published abolition productions for the purpose of primming lor the Van Boren party, the votes of tl.e abolitionists! that ‘ lie had labeled to con vince the nboli ionists that it was their duty to support the administration.” Th s much lie has admitted, and tl.e testimony has been produced to prove that at the time aboveltdlmir and to, I t v as a tai k, < ut and ot t abolitionist bin s f— dul in ■ r tr t> j roj iti' alt- the fee ’ nr-nr, s ;; Be lford, and strut t their votes for the Von Bln en tiehet, he proposed that they should te atlaKrd to home one of the candidates to he rvv r-pcv thu t ticket, uhirh here a/need to hr/ his i oliticod frit nils, hr hitrs/f, then u/nor of the At xo Bedford daze lie. now editor of the ISnslville Union, teas named by Lite fief rugroes os the man of their rhoirc to her tin ) pen the ticket, end he ras tin a he/ l re;Un ly tie. Whigs! Tit . was in 1637, and new in 1839, not two slant yi ars having elan*';* this man. this candidate of the uc 'ioos of New Bedford, is him- (1 „| tQ “ t p e South and placed at > v „ Lead of a leading nd nunijtr *!,,,, p ;1 p fr) f or the purpose of abusing hig l-miu ied and distinguished sons ol the South as abolitionists, because they refuse to support Van Ilmen! He is now one of the appostlfs cf Democracy--a painted saint am mg the faithful—a Mis sionary sent out to enlighten us upon po! - ties, and covert is to Van Burcnism !! With such doctiinaire.se s this, the party ought to he eminently successful in tho South. They might to carry every tiling before them in this benighted region! AVe commend him to tile right hand of fellow ship, an ong our democratic brethren of the press, lie pregchetj Yen curentsm like a crusader, and chaunts democracy like a Psalmster. There is but one drawback upon his exalted merits,—free negroes are not allowed to vote in the South, and therefore his eminent skill and long experi ence in winning 'he votes of that class will be utterly lost to the cause. We tbit k however he will do for a sample neverthe less ! REDUCTION CONVENT lON. Tlie great Reduction Convention has adjourned after a cession of eleven days, and its labors have terminated without conferring good or honor u’on the country It is true, a plan of reducing the number of Representatives of the people has been adopted by the Convention, but it ought to c--/l up the blush of shame upon the face of every man who had any agency in its adoption—a plan in which, admitting reduc'ion to be at all necessary and proper, every tiling has been disregarded which ought to have influenced ils formation. Iu the formation of the Senatorial districts, counties have been tacked together which are inconveniently situated to each other, and population has been utterly disregarded ; the only object seems to have been so to arrange it as to subserve party purposes and give party power. The Union party had the majority in the Convention, and with out regard to justice or equably of numbers, arranged it solely with an eye to securing themselves the ascendancy in the Senate.—• There were honoiable exceptions—nteu who disdained to use for mere party Fur poses the power entrusted them hy tho