VOL. B 8 ]
Che ©aiUoueixa OtfaUhmam
IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
AT DAHLONEGA, LUMPKIN COUNTY, GA.,
BY JESSE R. WIKLE,
At Two Dollars par annum, if paid in advance —
Two Dollars and Lift y cknts, if not paid with
in six months from the commencement of the
feitliscription year, or Thuke Dollars!!'nut paid
until the end of the year.
No paper will be discontinued while anv arrearage
is due,unless at the option of the. I’nldisht r.
AIIVEIiT’ISE UENTS conspicuously inserted at
Onk Dollar per squaie (12 ln.es or les<-) tor (lie
first insertion, and fifty cents lor every subse
All \dver iTsr.HiCNs sent to us without marking the
number of insertions desired, will be continued
U nil urderad out, and charged accordieoiy.
Legal Advertisements published at the usual
rates, and with strict attention to the requisition
of the law.
Sheriff’s svl -:s under regular executions, must be
adrertissd for thik rv d ays ; uudf r mortgage fl fas
f<r six months before the day of sale.
Salks .>f personal property (except negroes) forty
Citations by Clerks of Courts of Ordinary, upon
applieatio i for lettors of administration are to be
published for thirty days.
Citations upon tip dication for dismission, by Exec
utors, Ad uinistrators or Guardians, monthly for
SUMON I MS.
Orders of Court of Ordinary (accompanied with a
copy of the bond or agreement,) to make title to
laud, must be published three months.
Notices by Executors or Administraters or Guar
dians, of application to Hie court of Ordinary for
l-avetosell the Land or Negroes of an estate
Notices by Executors or Administrators, to the
Debtors and creditors of an estate, for six weeks.
TK I.kttf.rs to be P’lbli-her an business, must be
post paid, to enti !e them to attention.
wi— hi aui i,h
Dr. JNO. M. GREGORY, hav
ing located in Dahlonega, respect
fully tenders Lis professional ser
vices to the citizens of this place
and its vi unity. Office, in Mrs. Choice’s
Hotel, next door to Jacob H. Smith’s store.
August 13, 1846.—27.
Doct. James Haw son Smith,
HAVING located in Dahlonega, oilers
his professional services to the pub
lic. After a residence in New York city du
ring the course of his professional studies, he
le«‘L prepared to prictk— in £*•■?. various j
He has devoted particular attention to'
chronic diseases, affections of the Eye and.
Ear, and operations on those organs. All[
other operations in Surgery he is prepared to j
perfoin, and the late improvements in this sci
ence afford great facilities for relieving and
removing accidents and deformities, which
until lately were regarded as remediless anti
beyond the reach of art. Dr. Smith, when
not professionally engaged, will be found at
his office in the lower apartment of Fraser’s
Dahlonega, Nov. 20 ts.
"durell s. gregqryT
LTIOKNEY AH LAW,
Office adjoining the Printing Office, in the
upper story of Fraser’s building, on the
F ebruary I—l1 —1 —1 y.
<4 £OR G K ft'. LES T E I€,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Will faithfully transact any business con
fided to his professional management.
Dihionega, Feb. 13, 18 15. n
Attorney al Law,
Fcbrtmrv 13. 1545. nl
M, HaGaTMIUGHT ~
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
iiENRY LIGHT FOOT BLMS,’
ATTORNEY AT £4 IF,
Cumming, Forsyth County, Ga.
Feb. 13, 1845 nl
JL> OU GIA AS CR A N *b.
AND LAND AGENT.
D ihln'ieg i,. Ga., Nov. 8,1845. 40 —ly
pgiijVTi v v<L'~
fIIHE undersigned is prepared with good
JO. Materials and Paint to execute ail or
ders in hi l ? of business, such as
House, am\ Ornamental
Flowering Chairs and Furniture
and Graining in general, fyc.
From his long experience, and prompt!,
ude in filling orders, he feels confident that
he can give entire satisfaction to all who tn ay
patronize him. Orders from the country
will be promptly attended to.
AARON W. IHRSHAW.
puhlouega, Oct. S ? 1543. —J—ly
®ijc Daljlonctpi Wntcljinan.
DAHLONEGA, GA., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 3!, 184«.
Cll R 1 S TMA S ADDRESS
OF THE CARRIER OF THE
How changed the scene, since here the sav
age trod, (
To set his trap for game, or take wild honey,
Where now so many humble Printers plod, i
And laithful curriers hunt a little money.
- Howthings have altered since the settler’s axe
First thundered out amidst the darkened
Where cities, towns, and villages now wax,
And lands have lost their forest solitudes.
About a century has lapsed away
Since Oglethorpe first made his exploration,
First built his hut, and first assumed hissway
O’er this proud state of the confederation.
Those were stern times, when, both by day
A guard was placed around the settlement;
W hen, to the field, accoutered as for fight,
. The wary settler almost always went.
’Twas frequent then, when, to his home re
M hile, in the sky, no moon or star was
The husband founda blackened ruin burning,
And murdered wile where that loved home
’Twas frequent then, when, in the darkened
The midnight hour, with solemn pace mov
For men to wake midst flames ascending
And find all hopes of life forever gone—
To see their children butchered by their side,
Their dear companion rudely torn away;
And then themselves to die, while ruin wide i
Spread o’er their home, and greeted daw- I
But now, bow changed! where murder stalk
And whites and Indians est were seen con
The humble church has reared itself to God,
To which, each Sabbath day, a throng is
Now, where a rugged forest once beguiled
The tedious hours of a dusky race,
By manly sports amidst the mountains wild,j
Or deep excitement of the stirring chase, ■
A growing village greets the passing eye,
Where thrifty trade, and tillage-of the soil, j
And gathering traces of prosperity,
Improve a state gigantic grown by toil.
And now, dear friends, before we say good
And stop our Muse until another year,
We’d bid you for twelve months our paper try— !
Invoke a merry Christmas, with good cheer. I
For the Watchman.
ON A BOUQUET.
Sweet cedar, 1 gaze on thee yet,
Anu o’er thee 1 weep and 1 sigh ;
The donor I ne’er can forget,
When his loved image is ever nigh.
And thou, too, little rose-bud so sweet,
How oft o’er thee 1 drop a silent tear,
And though the loved one I nny never meet;
Still in my dreams he is ever near.
Then, little treasures, together I bind ye,
Naught shall sever ye apart,
Ye oft will remind me
Os one 1 hold nearest my heart.
[WI.IITEN for the WATCHMAN.J
A PAGE FROM THE PAST.
BY I). HASTINGS MASON, JR.
“O. true am! fervent are the prayers that breathe
Forth from a lip that I’adcs with coming death.”
Mary Ann Broiv.ne.
; “We bear her o’er the cold sea’s ioum,
, We bear her to her early home.”
i “Os all the gifts of heaven above,
I Whilst we on etirtli reside,
( There’s none so sweet as wedded L>vc—
The Bridegroom and the Biide.”
It was late on the afternoon of the next day
: after the last occurrence depicted in the pre
■ ceding chapter, that Isabel Clinton and Dr.
i Lefevre stood within the little apartment which
had been the home of the bereaved and the
j departed during so many months of weariness
'gn I suffering. She had com?, to take a last
I farewell of it, an.l to dispose of the scanty
i furniture, for the room was rented to a new oc-
Icunant, who was to make it her dwelling on
i 1 °
| the morrow.
I The u.oor opened., and one of Libel’s fe-
u Equal Rights to all—Exclusive Privileges to none?’
male companions in distress looked in.
“I beg pardon, for intruding,” she said hes
itatingly, “but the case is an urgent one,
! and”— •
J “What is the matter?” interposed Dr. Lef
I “Why, sir. poor Madam Roland is dying;
! they say she cannot live over the night; and
i when the nurse told her that Medemoiselle
i Clinton was here, she iinmed- itely sent up to
entreat to see her before she dies.”
1 “Who is Madam Roland ?”
i “A very wicked woman, sir. She used to
occupy one of the rooms below stairs, and
(tantalized us very much as we passed out in
to the street. I think Mademoiselle Clinton
■ will remember her.”
“Yes, that frightful-looking woman with a
(deep scar across her forehead—l recollect her
j distinctly,” replied Isabel after a moment’s
“Shall I guide you to her room in accot
dance with her request I— it is only a few hun
dred steps thither,” and the girl stood irreso
lutely at the threshhold of the door, with her
countenance turned inquiringly towards the in
It was in no very pleasant frame of mind
that Isabel accompanied her companions to
the wretched abode of the dying woman.—
She well remembered her, but it was with feel
ings of disgust and detestation. She re
membered her as the evil genius of every one
who had made her acquaintance, and that all
disliked her who knew anything concerning
her character. As she passed onward towards
her destination, her mind was deeply engros.
sed in thought. “What object could induce
the old beldame to desire an interview with
her more particularly than with others ?” she
earnestly inquired of herself. In vain did
she attempt to fathom the mystery —like the j
dim and voiceless future, it spread out before
By this time, she found herself in a dark
misty lamp, Whose ShU" flfckermg ngm,
cast around the damp and smoke-blackened
walls, glimmering over the broken boards
which composed the trampled and time-worn
floor, and glancing along the decayed ceiling,
only served to fill the apartment with strange,
shadowy hues, making the scene of suffering
drearier and still more desolate. Altogether,
the room was even more vile and ruinous than
the one from xvhich they had just departed,
and bore every appearance of extreme wretch
ncss and penury. It had once possessed a
window, but the shutters had been torn a
way by the violence of the winds, the entire
sash was and owing to the rigorousness
ot the present winter, it had been planked up,
so that, while day flashed and glanced with
i out doors, a dim and mist-like twilight perva
! ded the chamber.
In one corner, stood a bed, its tattered cc :•
ering hanging down to the floor in rags, and
the shrunken form of a female,with her fevered
hand resting lor support upon a withered arm,
lay discovered in the flickering light, in all the
[ghastliness ot sickness long-continued. As
the door closed behind the new-comers, the
sufferer raised her head slswly and wearily
from the pillow, and a wan and attenuated
, countenance was disclosed to view, marked
by hollow and pallid cheeks, sunken eyes, and
[whitened lips, while the long masses of
grey hair, grizzled by the combination of old
age and disease, swept back from her low,
pale forehead, tangled and disordered, and dis
appeared beneath the heap of rags which cov.
' ered her person.
The furniture of the room,what there was of
it,would have been scouted from a negro hovel.
It consisted merely of a single chair which
, stood close to the bedside, supporting the mis
ty and smoking lamp ; a small chest, or rath
er box, which reposed in an opposite cornet
while scattered around the base of the lamp,
were x-arious vials of medicine, and other of
those articles whose presence is absolutely
' necessary in the chamber of sickness.
! But whatever the dying woman had wished
*to communicate, they had arrived too late for
I any such purpose—she was evidently strug-
I gling with the Grim Messenger, and was gra
dually losing her senses as the dread moment
drew nigh. Every now and then, she would
raise herself slowly from the pillow, and then
gaze half vacantly around the room as if in
j search of some object— s then sink languidly
j back again, her faint groans echoing through
cm live aparini-imt. Poor cieatare I Sat-
was indeed alone in the world—she was in
deed destitute !—every object around told how
very Wretched was her condition—and, no 1
doubt, she had, been as guilty as she was
wretched; and the vulture-like gnawings oi
remorse might be the cause of that restless
ness which was writing on her pallid counte
nance the record of the last hour as one of
intense agony. But amidst all the wild and
fearful remembrances which came trooping up
there, like fiends in the still midnight, to har
row up bersoul—amidstall her terrible doubts
and imagining? until within a few minutes o!
her ultimate departure fur the Strange Land,
one thought was uppermost and all-absorbing
—maternal love ! fur it would appear from
many of her half-incoherent expressions, that
she had once been a mother. She called in
a low, thin voice ;
‘ Lucette, my daughter I”
i Then, as if the child had obeyed the sum
| mons, she clasped her arms close to her breast
with a wild pressure, while a bright smile
broke out upon her features, and a hollow
laugh ot delight trembled on her lips. Thus
passed on more than half an hour, and the f?w
rays of subdued sunshine that came trooping
through the crevices of the boarded-up win
dow, told that twilight was slowly darkening
over the sky.
Now came the last thrilling scene. The.
sufferer seemed conscious that the remaining
ing portion of her existence was quickly
drawing to a close, and her disparted lips just
moved as she strove to utter a dying prayer.
“Our Father who art in heaven !” was the
low, hoarse whisper—“hallowed be thy name
—thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
—forgive onr tresspasses—”
The ominous death-rattle smothered the re
maining portion of the sentence; and her
voice died altogether away.
“Forgive us our tresspasses—”
A gush of blood interrupted her utterance
for a moment, and a change flitted across her
countenance like a shadow, yet she perwove*-.
“The voice stopped—her head rolled slow,
ly away to the right—the eyes grew rayless
and set in their sockets—the heart ceased to
pulsate, and the bosom to upheave—the arms
fell motionless to her side ; the dust was rea
dy to return to the. dust as it was ; the immor
tal spirit had set out on an unknown pathway
in its journey to the Dim Beyond.”
On the night of the same day in which this
death occured, a large package was placed in
the hands of Isabel Clinton by the nurse who
had attended her until within a few hours of
her final departure. Upon opening it, she
discovered several thousands of dollars in bank
notes, which circumstance, as might be ima
gined, surprised her not a little. The manu
script that accompanied the package, howev
er, which had been written, by the sufferer in
person, and delivered, with instructions, into
the safe-keeping of the nurse, soon unravel
led the mystery, not only of the money before
her, but also of the why and wherefore of the
dying woman’s wish lo see her. L informed
her that the money ha ' originally belonged
to her father —that, as li .d been supposed, he
had been robbed, and that, making a deter
mined resistance to the encroachments of his
assailants, they had deemed it necessary to
put him to death. Many passages in the man
uscript led her to believe that the woman her
self had been a particeps criminis, but this
was involved in uncertainty. Isabel wept
long and bitterly for the fate of her beloved
father, but the most violent grief will at last
be assuaged; and before many additional
weeks had circled away, her countenance be
gan to assume the bright smiles of happiness.
But why should we prolong the story? Ac
companied by the benevolent Dr. Lefevre in
a pleasant voyage across the Atlantic, they
soon arrived upon the long-deserted shores of
America; and but a few additional days
brought them within sight of her native town.
Though change had been very busy with that
loved place during her absence, to her, it was,
nevertheless, the same hallowed spot that it
ever was; and though many of her dearest
and nearest friends reposed in the cold earth
in the little church burial-ground, plenty were
still left to welcome her back ; and xvli a the
anniversary of her departure came round, she
stood blushing in beauty beside the laithful
Earnest Danton, while, the good Dr. Lefevre
joined their hands, and pronounced his bles
iitu? upj'ii lheir litiuic Ivvuar
i But before we drop the “crimson curtain,”
an.l bid a final adieu to the kind and patient
reader, we cannot forbear from making a few
remarks concerning one of our characters—
Isabel’s uncle. This base wretch, after hav
ing sqauderod all his possessions in contin
ued debauchery and dissipation, was finally
detected In the presentation of a forged notw
for a large amount, thrown into prison, tried, .
and condemned ; but several weeks after this
ncarceration, and only a few days after th» A<
proaouncing of his sentence, he xva* found
one of the jailors in bis cell, cold and stiffened
in the arms of death—he had committed J?i
And now, dear reader, farewell! If, m
leading you through the labyrinths of the story
just completed, we have interested your feel
ings in favor of the poor and distressed—if
we have succeeded in touching your heart
with the pure principles of morality, we hava
accomplished all that we intended.
Dahlonega, (Ga.,) 1846.
From the N. O. Picayune, 20th tilt.
SCENES AT MONTEREY.
The following scene was described to me
by an officer commanding a regiment in the
2d Division at the battles of Monterey. I give
it almost ip his own language, as lie spoke of*
it the day after it occurred,(24thSeptember.)
He has declared often since, that it “mado
him feel sentimental every time he thought
of it.” and I am sure I never thought of ac
cusing him of weakness, for it gave me tho
blues to hear him tell the story ;
“And this,” said he, in speaking of home,
“reminds me of an affecting scene of last
night. I was ordered by Col. Childs to tako
a company of my regiment and break in tho
doors of a row of houses in the second plaza.
I had gone nearly through without seeing a scul
when, for a time, the efforts of my men were
exerted in vain to get into one that seemed
barricaded with care. As the hinges of tho
■door wore about to give way,a tremulous voice
1 F.O 1 xiiot. to
door down,it should be opened. When unlock
ed,! rushed as well as I could, over beds,chairs
i cushions, etc. etc., and to my surprise, found
; the room occupied by about twenty-five wo
j men ! As soon as they saw me and the sol
diers following, they ran around me and fell
on their knees, the elder beseeching, in tones
of deep distress, my protection, and to have
their lives spared ; the younger begging tim
idly not to be injured. While they were thus
kneeling, and I assuring them that no harm
or injury should befall them, a pretty little
woman slid into the circle and knelt close to
my feet. ‘Senor,’ said she, in a soft, quiver
ing voice, ‘for the love you bore your mother,
for the love you have for your wife, for the
tender affection your heart holds for your chil
dren, oh, spare t his, my poor little babe’—
holding up a bright eyed, dimpled cheeked
little boy, about a year old. She never ask
ed for herself. In spite of me, tears rushed
to my eyes, and I could only speak with a
full heart as 1 told her to rise, and assured her
that she and her child were perfectly safe.—
‘Be the Holy Virgin, Capting,’ remarked a
rough Irish soldier, wiping away a tear with
the back of his hand, t the old Seventh
purtcct them !’
“That night I watched over that room,
which was sacredly kept from intrusion. Thtt
next day we were blessed by these females in
their attentions, for the protection we had giv
en them, for they gave us of what they had to
eat and drink, and wo were nearly tarnished*
Poor creatures, how much they were distress
ed. The young mother will ever be painted
in my mind’s eye as the devoted guardian of
her babe. Her busband, I learned, was an
officer, and was then fighting us in the city.
She could not Lave known whether he was
alive or not, and I have not heard of him.”
Many scenes, very like that described abovo
took place in the city. I did not bear of a
single outrage being committed where women
were in the question, but heard of many in
stances in which food was furnished to our
men and paid for, even when the fight was
The World.— ls we would enjoy ourselves,,
we must take the world as it is mixed up, with
a thousand spots of sunshine —a cloud hero
and there—a bright sky—a storm to-day—-
i calm to-morrow—the chill piercing winds of'
intuinn, and the bland reviving air of sum-
The N. O. papers announce the arrival of
Mr. Ulay in that city on the 13th nut.