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y'evc the party to which I am opposed has piwtifcd mucii more, and been injuied much Jess, than that to which 1 belong. But lam far, for that reason, from be mg disposed to ac cuse our adversaries of Itcing nboritio;lists. And now, Mr. President, allow me to con aider tlie several cases in which the authority of Congress is invoked by tliese abolition pe... t loners upon tie subject of do.m stic slavery. T.ie first relates to it :is it exists in the District of Columbia. Tnc following is the provision of the Const tution of t.ie Ua.ted States in re lation to that matter: “To exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever over such D.str.ct (not ex ceeding ten m les square) as mav, by cession of particular states, and the acceptance ot Con press, liecome the seat of government of tiie United States.” Tnis provision preceded, in point of time, the actual cessions which were made by the stales of Maryland and Virginia. Tne object of the cession was to establish a seat of gov ernment of the United States; and the grant in tlie Constitution of exclusive legislation must lie understood, and should be always in terpreted, as hnvng relation to tlie object of the cession. It was with a full knowledge of this clause in the constitutlo i that those two states ceded to the general government the ten miles square, constituting the District of Columbia. In making the cession, they sup- j posed that it was to be applied, and applied solely to the purposes of a seat of government,; for which it was asked. When it was made, slavery existed in both those commonwealths, naif in tlie ceded territory, as it now continues to exist in all of them. Neither Maryland nor Virginia could have anticipated that, whilst the institution remained within their res, ertive limits; its abolition would be attempted by Congress, without their consent. Neither of them would, probably, have made an uncondi tional cession, if they could have anticipated such a result. From the nature of the provision in tlie con stitution, and the avowed object of the acquisi tion of the territory, two duties arise u:i the part of Cong ess. Tlie first is, to render the District available,comfortable and convenient, as a seat of government of the whole Union: the other is, to govern the people within the District so as lies! to promote their happiness nnd prosperity. These objects arc totally dis tinct in their nature, and, in interpreting and exercising the grant of the power of exclusive legislation, that distinction should be constant ly borne in mind. I, it necessary, in order to lender this place a eo nlbitable seat of the general government, to abolish slavery within its limits ? No one can or will advance such a proposition. The government has remain ed hcic near forty years, Without the slightest inconvenience from the presence of domestic slavery. Is it nccessa yto the well-being of the ptopleof the District that slavery should l>e abolished from amongst the n? Tiiey not only neither ask nor desire, hut are almost unanimously opposed to it. It exists here in tlie mildest and most mitigated form In a population of 30,834. there were, at tlie last enumeration of the population of the United States, but 0,119 slaves. The number has not, probably, much increased since. They ure dispersed over the ten miles square, en gaged in the quiet pursuits of husbandry, or in menial offices m domestic life. If it were ne cessary to th s efficiency of this place as a scat of the general government, to abolish slavery, which is title'ly denied, the abolition should he confined to the necessity waicli prompts it, that is, to the limits of the city of Washington itself. Beyond those limits, persons concern, ed in the government of the United States have no more to do with the inhabitants of the District than they have with the inhabitants of tlie udjueont counties of Maryland and Virgi. nia, which lie beyond the District. To abolish slavery within the District of Columbia, whilst it remains in Virginia and ftlarvland, situated, as teat District is, within the very heart of tho-e states, would expose them to great practical inconvenience and an noyance. Tire District would liecome a place of refuge and escape for fugitive slaves from the two states, and a place from which a spirit of discontent, insubordination and insurrection might be fostered and encouraged in the two states. Suppose, as was at one time under consideration, Pennsylvania Imd granted ten miles square within its limits, for the purpose of u seat of the general government: could Congress, without a violation of good faith, have introduced and established slavery tvithin the bosom of that commonwealth, in the ceded territory, after she had abolished it so long .ago ns the year 1789? Yet the inconvenience to Pennsylvania in the case supposed would have been much less than that to Virginia and Ma ryland, in the ease we are arguing. It was upon this view of the subject that tiie ( {Senate, at its last session, solemnly declared that it would he a violation of implied faith, re suiting from the transaction of the cession, to 1 abolish slavery within the District of Columbia, ji And would it not be? By implicit faitn is j meant that, when a grant is made for onej, avowed and declared purpose, known to the parties, the grant should not be perverted to :> another purpose, unavowed and undeclared.! and injurious to the granter. The grant, in I j the case wo are considering, of tl-e territory of jj Columbia, was for n scat of government.— . Whatsoever power is necessary to accomplish jj that qbjeet is carried along hy tlie grant. But the abolition of slavery is not necessary to j 1 tiie enjoyment of this site as a seat of tho gene-: ral government. The grai t in the constitu- j tion. of exclusive power of legislation over the District, was made to insure the exercise of an exclusive authority of the general govern, ment to vender this place a safe nnd secure 6e it of government, arid to promote the well, being of the inhabitants of the District. The’ jiovver granted ought to he interpreted and ex ercised so'clv to the end for which it wa- I granted. The language of tlie grant was ne ecssarily broad, comprehensive and exclusive I heeau.se all the exigencies which might arisi to render this a secure sent of the general go vernment could not have been foreseen are provided for. The language may possibly Is sufficiently comprehensive to include a powe of oUilition, but it would not at all tiienee fid low that ihe power could lie rightfully oxer cised. Tlie case innv l>e resembled to that o n pleui|ioteniiary invested with a [denar' power,but who, »t tire same time* has positive ijinstructions from bis government as to the i kind of treaty which lie is to negotiate and conclude. If he violates those instructions, and cone udes a different treaty, his govern- I meat is not bound by it. And if the foreign; igov-'mment is aware of the violation, it acts in I bad fii’h. Or it may be illustrated by an ex (ample drawn from private life. lam an en dorser for my friend on a note discounted in bank. He applies to me to endor e another to renew it, which Ido in blank. Now, this gives lii'ii power to make any other use ol my note which he pleas s. But if, instead of ap j plying it to the intended purpose, he goes to a broker and sells it, thereby doubling my re sponsibility for him, be commits a breach of trust, and a violation of the good frith implied in the whole transaction. But, M r President, if this reasoning were a erroneous as I bclfeve it to be correct and co.i elusive, is lie affair of tire lilreration of six thousand negro slaves in this D.strict, discon nected with tire three in llions of slaves in tut United States, of sufficient magnitude to agi tate, distract, and embitter this great coul'ede 1 rnev ? |j Tiie next case in which the petitioners ask j tlie exercise of tiie power of Congress, ic-late.-. j j to slavery in the Territory of Fiotula. Florida is tiie extreme southern portion o! the United States. It is hound on all its land | sides by slave states, and is several hundred miles from the nearest free state. It alrnos: [ extends within the tiopics, and the nearest im j po.tant island to it on the water side of it is Cuba, a slave island. Tais simple stateme it of its geographical position should, of itself,de cide tlie question. When, by the treaty o 1819 with Spain, it was coded to the United States, slavery exist <1 within it. By tue term' of that treaty, the effects and property of the inhabitants are secured to them, and they aiv allowed to remove and take them away, if they think prOjer to do so, without 1 mitution as to time. If it were expedient, therefore, to abolish slavery in it, it could not be done con sistcntently with the treaty, without granting to the ancient inhabitants a reasonable time to remove their skives. But further. By the icompromi.se which took place on the passage of the act for the admission of Missouri into -the Union, in the year 1829, it was agreed and understood that tiie line of 36 deg. 39 j min. of north latitude should mark tne bounda- i ry between the free states nnd tiie slave stat s to lie created in the territories of the United States ceded by the treaty of Louisiana ; those situated south of it being sla e states, and those north of it free states. But Florida is j south of that line, and, consequently, accord ing tv the spirit of t. e understanding which prevailed at the period alluded to. should lie a (slave state. It may lie true that the coinpro. mise does not in terms embrace Florida, and that it is not absolutely binding and obligatory; blit all candid and impartial men must agree : that it ought not to be disregarded, without the most weighty considerations, and that nothing could be more to lie deprecated than to open anew tlie bleeding wounds wnich were happily hound up and healed bv that compromise. Florida is the only remaining territory to be admitted into the Union with the institution of domestic slavery, while Wisconsin and lowa are now nearly ripe for admission with out it. The next instance in which tlie exercise of the power of Cos ig css is solicited, is that of prohibiting what is denominated by the peti tioners the slave trade between the states, or, as it is described m abolition petitions, the traffic in human beings between the states. This exercise of the power of Congress is claimed under the clause of the constitution which invests it with authority to regulate commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and with the Indian tribes. The power to regulate coin neree among the several states,, like other powers in the consti tution, has hitherto remained dormant in re spect to the interior trade by land between the states. It was a pow r granted, l.ke all the otiier [lowers of tiie general government, to -secure peace and harmony among the states. Hitherto it lias hot been necessary to exercise it. All the cases in winch, during the pro gress of time, it may become expedient t< ex ert tlie general authority to regulate commerce between the stat s, cannot be conceived. We may easily imagine, however, contingencies which, if they were to happen, might require the interposition of tii • common authority. If, for example, the state of Ohio were, by law, to prohibit any vessel entering tiie oort of Cin cinnati, from the port of Louisville, in Ken tucky, if that case bo not already provided lor by the laws which regulate our coasting-trade, it would be competent to the general govern ment to annul tlie prohibition emanating from state authority. Or, if the s ate of Kentucky were to prohibit the introduction, within its i limits, of any articles of trade, the production of the industry of the inhabitants, of tlie state of O.iio, the general government might, by its i authority, supersede tlie state enactment. But 1 deny that the general government has any uithority, whatever, from the constitution, to j abolish what is called the slave trade, or, in i other words, to prohibit the removal of slaves i from one slave state to another slave state. [to be continued.] LITERATURE AND OFFICE. We are glad to see by tiie papers that Nathaniel Hawthorne, of Salem, has received he appointment of Inspector of the Boston Custom-house. Why should not tlie man who lias contributed to the literary distinction if bis country possess, claims as strong, in the listribution of the favors of government, as the nofessioiial political drudge, or the avowed iffice-seeker? Mr. Hawthorne is the author if a volume of excellent prose sketches, betr ngtlie title of “Twice-told Tales.” Ills style s singularly beautiful and original ; but the irincipal charm of bis pieces is tliicr peculiarly Vmetrical) character. Hawthorne will, before ! natty years, be acknowledged one of the most emarkable and gdlcd writeis of liisduv. N- Y. Mirror. THE GREAT WESTERN. The packet-steamer Groat Western is ad ertised to depart from Bristol on the 28th of u Minna ry—the Liverpool on tlie Oth of Feb | ruary. TIIE SOUTHERN POST. DRAMATIC SKETCHES. From the New-Vork Mirror. CrXIGUHDA’B VOW. 8 T im ttSS-ELI MITFOBD- Scxne — Silesia.—Enter Ernest, to Gertrude and EUitha. iVfi.tr. Where is thy lady, Gertrude 7 Gertrude. On the turret Watching the first glimpse of the stranger knight Who comes to-day to attempt the perilous feat Ordained by her rash vow. Ediiha. Poor Ounigunda! Now pave she dearly the o'erweeningpride Ol haughty beauty. Love hath w ell avenged His martyred votaries. Ernest. Speak not with that tone Os pity, -maiden 1 Pm an old retainer >f Cunigunda's house ; have carried her \ smiling child within mine arms ; have loved her iven as a father, as a father gloried l her unparagoned charms. But her cold cruelty Doth fret my very heart-strings. Not enough For this proud beauty to reject all hearts Ofkttight or count, or prince—for princess sued \t Cunigunda's feet—but she must tempt dash wooer to his death, grim ghastly death, •Untimely bloody death, hy that stern vow Flia: he should win her, who should safely ride Y round these Kienest walls—the narrow walls. Os these steep mountain towers! She might as well Command them ride upon a falchion’s edge, Jr stand erect upon the topmast spray Os yon tall poplar. Many a gallant steed L es whitening in the abyss, many a brave knight Hath perished in the rocky gulf;—and now Another victim comes! Editha. One—ls he fall, The shades of ail that f>r her sake have die J, Where they as countless as the leaves that dance |ln Hirchsburg vale, would he avenged ! She loves him, Believe it Ernes', with the fervid Eve Os stern and haughty hearts. Ernest. Belie.e who will ! •She, thy proud mistress, love the falcon knight! Albert the fateon knight! A wandering stranger, , Whose house, whose name she knows not. Tush ! i Ediiha. Yet Albert Is the sole name she speaks ; the falcon crest Her only heraldry. Ernrst. Princes have Sighed For Cunigunda, and that she should sigh For this poor knigh—, Gertrude. She doth ! Ernest. One all unapt To win a Indy’s eye ! Site that beheld Unmoved tiie gay Count Cassel, whosejight step Came bounding like the roe, whose glance shot fire— She that beheld uushaked his bright form Lie stiffand mute before her—she that saw, Without a tear the bleeding mangled corse Ol Rudolf of Thuringia, blooming boy, Fair, slender, blue-eyed boy, whose nut-brown curls Clustered o’er his white brow, whose damask cheek, And coral lip, and brilliant smile, and round And joyous voice were redolent of youth. And hope, and lfe;—thiuk'st thou that she, w hom bloom And fhafins like these ne’r touched, can love yon sad And palid stranger 7 Editha. With idolatry, Passing what hath been told or feigned of love In story or in song. Unapt to win A lady's eye ! Ernest, thou hast been trained In courts, arid camps, and battles; thou know’st well All that pertains to man, but woman’s heart To thee is a sealed book. I tell thee, Ernest, Yon pallid stranger, with the serious grace Os his fine features, delicate yet full Os mild command ; the dark locks closely shorn Around the noble head ; the manly form Where grandeur blends with elegance ; the voice Clear, deep, and ringing, fitting instrument Os lofty thought, the reverential port Majestically bending with a proud And prompt obedience, to the very name Os woman reading homage;—such aj) oae Might win— Gertrude. She comes! Enter Cunigunda and Oita. Cunigunda. Unbar the gates ! Be quick. Unbar the gates! Why bide ye loitering here When ye should fly to bid the Castellan Give present entrance to the falcon knight— i The valiant falcon knight?-[Exii Ernest]-Ye dally here, Whilst he stands waiting—he ! Why of themselves The Kienast gates should ope to him. Otto. He's here, Fair madam. Enter Sir Albert and a Page. Cunigunda. Now, Sir Albert! Albert. Beauteous lady, leoineto win thee —Bid them lead my courser Rnund to the courtof guard. Is’t not die way That we must gain tie ramparts? [Ex. P.] S.veet I come To win thee or to perish. Cunigunda. Oh.no! No! Albert Why, though should* arm me for this view '• less peril As fir some tourney fray. Why dost thou sigh 7 Why turn so deadly pale 7 Cunigunda. ’Tis a vast peril Albert. ’Twas thine own vow imposed it: thine own choice; And now ’tis mine. I knew afore I saw thee Wh.it danger must be dared for Cunnigunda, And kuowing came. Thou wouldst not sure fright me With ibat same bugbear Peril? I’m a warrior Trained to defv, to seek each several form Ot death in glorious battle. Wouldst thou teach me- A cowardice now 7—Farewell! —The sun shines bright On hill and valley ; the soft breezes play O’er leaf and flower; over our heads the lark Chaunts his gay matins ; Nature smiles on me And my high purpose : —for this deed is holy. Thrice holy, lady !—W.ieti I come again— Farewell! Cunigunda. Oh go not! go not! Albert. Cunigunda, Hast thou not sworn to yield thy hand to none, Save him «ho rides unscathed around these steeps And narrow walls 7 Is nit that oath proclaimed O.i earth, and registered in heaven 7 Cunigunda. Alas ! Albert. And I too have a vow recorded there To do ’his deed or perish. Cunigunda. Oh, go Dot! Not yet! not yet! Albert. Why should I dally 7 Cunigunda Stay A month, a little month ! Thou wilt not 7 Then A week, a day, an hour! Grant but such respite As the poor sentenced criminal may claim When he craves time for prayer.—Oh, go not yet! Not yet! not yet! Albert. Is this the soft relenting Os woman’s tender heart tbad whom pain Or danger threaten 7 Didst thou thus implore Henry of Cassel ? or the gentle boy Yoiung Rudolph of Thuringia 7 Cunigunda. No. Oh, frown not. Nor turn away thy head, nor snatch thino hand From mine! They knew the peril that they braved. And they would brave that peril. Cans! thou blame me i That I ne’er loved afore? that I love now 7 | Ob, go not Alliert! j Albert. Lady, lam bound 1 By n strong fi I'ermg vow—ls I return. This hand is mine ? Cunigunda. Ay hand and heart. Yet go not! Beseech thee, stay with me ! Albert. When I come back Thou art wholly mine ? Cunigunda. Ay, ay. But go not yet i Albert. Mine to dispose ’even as I will? Cunigunda. Ay, dearest, Even as thou wilt. But stay with me awhile ! [ Stay! stay! . [Exit Albert. I Editha. He’s gone! | Cunigunda. Oil, stop him ! Say I beg ! -Say I command! Fly! fly !—(Exit Otto.]—And yet ( my oath, ]My fatal, fatal oath ! Without such trial We may not wed—Bur, oh, to see him dashed, As they have been, from off the wall, and lain A pale, disfigured corse—Oh, horrour! horrour! Re-enter Otto. Stop him, I say; and if need be by force. ’Command him hither. Otto. Lady Cunigunda. Dost thou hear ? Where is the falcon knight 7 Am I not mistress | Within these towers 7 Command him hither, j Otto. Lady, Even as he left thee, at a bound he sprang On his proud steed, and scaled the rampart sta rs; Ere now he's on the walls. Cunigunda. Oh save him ! save him, IYe saints that watch o'er love ! Go some of ye To the high turret that o'erhangs the castle. And look ye send me blessed tidings—no! i The truth'. the very truth ! Are ye not gone 7 [Exeunt Otto and Gertrude Editha. Wilt thou not go thyself? ’T were a less grief Than crouching there in that strong agony 01 fear—thy head between thy hand3. thy limbs ‘ Cunigunda. He’ll die! Shivering, thy bosom panting. Go! He’ll die ! And how could I endure—He’ll die For me ! for me ! Editha. Take comfort, lady, Cunigunda. Comfort! Who ever passed that dread abyss, where yawns Tiie H.rschberg valley under the high rock Crowned with our frowning battlements, or dared Tiie desperate leap from tower to tower, nor fell Crushed, breathless, motionless 7 Who e’er returned Alive 7—Oh horrour! horrour ! Edith fly ! Speed me some tidings. [Exit Editha] He must die I and I, I that so loved him, I that would have given My live a thousand fold to save him—l Shall be his murderess. Bhter Ernest. j Ernest. Nay, lady, nay, There's yet a h< >j >e. { Cunigunda. Oid man, art thou turned flatterer 7 He’ll perish. Ernest. I beheld the managed steed 1 Ascend the steep and narrow slair ; a steed Os Araby, light-limbed and fine, with eyes ; Os living fire half starting from his slim And veiny head; a hot and mettled steed ; Yet trained to such obedience, that each motion j Os the swift foot seemed guided by the Will Os the bold rider, even as they had been One and incorpi irate. If man may achieve This perilous deed, the falcon knight alone— Cilhigunda. Ernest thou shalt have lands enow to make Thyself a belted knight! Now blessings on thee That bring'st me hope ! —But Edith, Gertrude, Otto, Why come they not 7 I could h ive won to Prague And back in half the time. Why come they not 7 Good tidings find swift messengers. Alas ! I fear ; I fear. | Ernest. Shall Igo seek them 7 Cunigunda. No The abyss, the dread abyss, where the old wall J Shelving, and steep, and crumbling, overhangs The vale of Ilirschburg from such dtSlying height As never plummet fathomed ; -that abyss— Henry of Cassel there, and the good knight j Os Olmutz—Oh I have been cruel, Ernest, : And for my sins he'll die ! to punish me I He'll die! he’ll die 1 Enter Gertrude. G ertrude. Lady Cunigunda. Why dost thou pause 7 I Ernest. See how she pants ! she’s breathless. Cunigunda. Is there any Panting and breathless save myself 7 He's dead ! 1 si e it in her face. Gertrude. He hath safely passed j The abyss. j Cunigunda. Now thanks to heaven! The dread abyss. He’s safe! lie’s safe! Thou shalt be portioned Gertrude | He’s safe ! Ernest. Yet that wide leap from tower to tower, Where Rudolf of Thuringia Cunigunda. Outouihee, Raven ! Ernest. That fearful leap, with scarce ale Ige Where stee.i [Shouts without j Cunigunda. What means that cry 7 Re-enter Otto and Edi ha. Editha, Otto, What means that cry 7 Editha. He’s safe ! tlie leap is past: The falcon knight is safe 1 Ernest. Look to her ! Cunigunda. Nay, I’m well. Say o’dr again 7 Editha. The leap is past. The falcon knight is safe. Cunigunda. My Editha, Ask what thou wilt of me. Wa3 ever woman So blest before! The falcon knight is mine, Mine own, and lam his. Oh, thanks to heaven ! Now, ye that called my vow cruel and rash, Wliat ssy ye now ! Ernest. Alas, dear lady, still I grieve for them that Cunigunda. Talk not of them. Think What were ath ousaiid such as they, compared With the boid falcon knight ! —Ediiha, Gertrude, Albert will come to claim his bride ; whipe off These blistering tears, braid this dishevelled hair. Adjust my wimple and my veil;—my knight j Will come to claim his bride. Enter Sir Albert ana a Page. He comes ! away ! I was a fool to think of vanity ; He will not love bis Cunigunda less i That she hath lain on the stone fl Kir in prayer | And tearful agony, whilst he hath dared This perilous deed—Albert! Albert (to a page.) Lead Snladin Gently around the court. He trembles still At the o’ermastered dai ger Cunigund-i. Albert! ! Albert (s ill to the page.) Loosen The foaming bit. It is a matchless seed. Cunigunda. Oh matchless ! matchless ! I myself would be His groom. But Albert! — Albe-t. When lie’s cooler, bid Thy comrade, Jerome, ride him back to Prague. Bring thou another courser strait The day Wears on. [Exit Page Cunigunda. Sir Albert! Albert. Madam! Cunigunda. Hast thou not j A word for Cunigunda 7 Dost thou stand 1 There, like some breathing marble in thv cold (hern hanglny beauty, mute and mouonlewi. With arms close-folded and down gazing eyes. No thought for Cunigunda, not a word For her whom thou hast won, not even a look ? Dost thou not claim me, Albert 1 Albert. Lady, no; I have a wife—ay, start and tremble ! turn As pale as winter snows ! feel every pang That thou has caused and scorned!——l have a wife, A sweet and gracious woman; beautiful Beyond all beauty, for the blush of love, The smile of kinditess, and the dancing light Os those joy-kindling eyes, in whose bright play The innocent spirit revels, blend their spell With features delicate as lily-hells, A shape more gracefal than the clus'ering vine. Talk of thy stately charms ! At Ida’s side Thou wouldst show coarse and sunburt, as the brown And rugged elm beside the shining beech. Ay,shrink and tremble! hide thy burning cheeks Within thy quivering hands ! —Wilt thou hear more 7 This lovely, loving wife, my three years bride, And twice a mother—Oh, none ever bent With such a grace as she o’er sleeping babes, Nor ever youthlu! mother b nt o'er b bei So like the cherubim ! —This wife, so fair, So sweet, so womanly, whose pitying heart Would ache to see a sparrow die, tins wife I love. Cuniguhda. Why then—Oh cruel! Albert. Dar’st thou talk lOf cruelt-, proud murderess, whose mre 1 For true-love hath been death 7 Whose sinful vow Sew the most gracious boy of all the earth, The hope and pride and joy of his high line, Young Rudolf of Thuringia, my dear brother, My dear and only brother 7 Ernest ’Tis Duke Albert! Yet pity her! See how she smites her brow And tears her raven hair! Albert. Where was her pity When that fair boy—Murderess,’tis RudolFs brother ! That speaks to thee. When first I heard that tale, Several revenges, deadly, bloody fierce, All that the body can endure of keen And lengtnened agony, the rack, the wheel, The stake rushed through my brain, but they had been A poor anj trivial vengeance, all unmeet For such o’erwhelming wrong; my cunning hate Hath found a more enduring curse. Thou love’st me, Thou lov’est me, Cunigunda, with the hot Wild passion of thy nature, ad I scorn thee ! Thou art condemned and lo bed hy whom thou lov’st Won and abandoned ; spurned nnd thrown aside Like an infected garment. The plague soot Os sin is on thee, woman ; blackest shame Shall follow like thy shadow. ’Twas fur this 1 donned the mask nfcourtshin; for this trained My faithful steed. Thy worthless 'an 1 i.- m ne— Nay, touch me c.o , hang not bo it nav kees— Mine to tea o'. Some bore-boy of my train Shall prove thy fitting partner. Elitha. Oil fir pity ! For manly pity, good, my lord, break not The bruised flower! Cunigunda. Bo silent, Editha! I have deserved all evil. Deal with me Even as thou wilt, Duke Albert I’ve deserved Thy hate—but soon my heart—mv bursting heart — Deal w ith me as thou wilt. ’Twill not be long ! Albert. Naythen—rise, Cunigunda ! Lit'thv face From off the ground and listen. I’ll not break The bruised fl »weh Live and repent. In prayer And pious penance live. Tiie cloisters cell Were thy meet refuge. By to-morrow's dawn Go join the Carmelites at Prague. For them Who d ; e 1 untimely, for thy l elf, for me And for my chd Iren, prvy ! —Now home, Sir Page ! My steed! mystcedl [Exeunt. MISCELLANY. Still gash thy Treasures, Living Spring. BY T. S. ARTHUR. Stiil gush thy treasure?, living spring? Still in th% sunlight play Thv s Iverv waters, murmiiririg Along their pleasant way. But ah! h>w soon in Uarksonie glade, Or leaty dell, or woodland shade, Thy chequered course is seen ; Wnence foil fly comes thy wonted song. As pensively thou steal'st along T.ie changed and darkened scene. Affection's streamlet! once 1 deem’d Thy waters still would be Living and bright as first they seemed, As bounding and as free ; But like that s ream I love 1 when young, Joyful the chrystal waters sprung, And gaily danced away ; But soon dim shadows o’er thee passed. High rock and tree thy bosom glass’d, And twilight on thee lay. Yet even though hidden in the shade Os vnlly dark and low, Rich treasures of the heart are laid Where thy deep waters flow. Nor would I now thy course should be Where zephyrs wanton joyfully, O'er gardens af perfume ; The diamond's sheen and chrysolite Make all thy lonely chambers bright,— Thy hidden depths illume. Thy rippling surface caught no beam Os sunlight pleasantly; . ‘Twas ever hut a broken gleam Os quivering rays to thee ; Now, though the rock hangs beetling nigh, And tall trees lift their branches high Above thy gloomier shore, Down thy pure crystal depths afar Shines many a ray from many a star That veiled its light bes ;re. PLAIN SPEAKING. A writer in Twit’s Edinburgh Magazine has addressee! a letter to Queen Victoria, which is near y as bitter as that which Junins addressed to her grandfather. He tells her that she is hut a child, and that were she anything but a sovereign, her opinions would never be con sulted, even in her own family, beyond the choosing for herself of a cap or a gown, and that she would not bet nnsidered infallible even upon that. He severely condems the excess of favor which her majertv still manifests to wards the present ini istrv, anil is particularly impudent when speaking of Lord Melbourne whom lit* con.- iders as little lietter than a popin. jiy. Wedoub if such plain speaking as this can penetrate throng i the clouds of adulation and flattery to the ears of the youthful queen. L. E. L. The death of Miss L•melon. (Mrs. M’Lcin) is confirmed. This o -purred at Cap • Coast shortly after he. - arrival. She was found He; and on the floor of her room, with a vial >f pru-t sic acid in her hand, and the jury gave as a ver lict that she had probably taken an over dose for spasms of the stomach, lo which she was subject, and wlfch were re excited hv tin change of climate, her husband, it appears juflering at the same times 'curb FOR SWEARING. An urchin at a puolic school, having beeu detected in swearing, was ordered by the mas. ter to watch a mouse hole, with a pair of tongs, and not to speak or move till lie caught a mouse. Singularly enough, a mouse soon made its appearance, which the boy seized with tlie tongs, and. holding it aloft, triumph antly exclaimed, at the top of his voice, “ so! l've got him /” This caused a’ roar ot laughter, in which tlie master could not joining. “LONG DRAWN OUT,” BV STEAM. A London paper says that “ one pound of cotton, which formerly could onl. be sriui! into a thread of otic hundred and eight yards long, can now, by the npplicat on offtenm produce a thread ol one hundred and s i X iy miles Jn length !” This is “ spinning a | oa o yarn, and no mistake. 0-Cr The lawful weight of a barrel of flour exclusive of tare, is 196 pounds. It is stated in a Boston paper, that, in some cases this sen. son, Barrels of flour Imve been known to fill 35 pounds short! The inspector ought to be fed on what falls short. O RIGINA L. For the Southern Post. Tragic Story of A Mountain Huntsman. One beairiful nigh', when the moon’s smiling beams Illumin'd the fores', and dane'J in its stre uns, Tue wild ones that ventur’d at nightfall to roam, In quest a repast away from their home, Were told by the horn, in its tremulous talk. The famed Mountain Huntsman goes on his walk. The wheels of an hour have borne him away To the heart of tiie wood, where some wand’ring ray A slyly intrusion at intervals made. To see what lay hid ’ncath the recumbent shade; No sound ot aught living is startled to cheer The shade-shrouded silence which now lingers there. But the winds of sear autuirth plainilvely sigh 'M >ng tlie tall forest trees whose tops wave on high, Betokening their grief at the warning they gave Those trees, their green offspring to shroud for the grave. At length, as he rambled o'er mountain and vale, His ear caugh' the sound of a piteous wail, Which rang through the fires’, both piercing and shrill Frnn mountain to valley, from val'ey to hill; Now lulled into softness, then swelling ns tone, 1 s echoes fiom mountain to mountain are borne, 'Till breathless hs hears its last dying strain, And silence prevails o’er the forest again. In spite of his daring he trembles to hear A Sound which before had not greeteJ his car ; Dejected and sad, on a tree he reclined, And spectre-like fantasies haunted his mind ; But soon he imagines the sound he has heard To be but the shriek of some emigrant bird, Which, firing its way, from the sea had been driv’n, And tarr.ed to lo Ige in the forest that even. Assur’d that his fears were all groundless and vain. He whistled, and stiung up his courage again ; He then mus’d on the past, the life he had led; First thought on the living, and then on the dead— His wife and his children he’d left at his home : Then rov’d where hss boyhood delighted to roam. That in >nent, alas ! recollections were itirr’d, Which tortur’d his soul more than all he had heard ; His Sony he remember’d, who roving ths» wood. Was lost, as supposed, near the spot where Ae stood. He call’d up the vows which he made in his grief. To turn him to virtue, in quest of relief: Yet slighting his pledge, when his sorrows were o'er; He liv'd on as thoughtless and vain as before. As he brush’d from his eye one penitent tear. The same startling shriek sgais fell on his ear ! Its accents were thrilling ; in terror he stood. Halt thinking that Demons infested the wood. And ere its last notes had to stillness resign'd, A howling, most dismal, sweil'd high on the wind. Which told that his pack to their kennel had gone. And left him to hear his wild music alone. ’’l’was fearfully sirange, and troubled him sore. His faithfuls had never deserted before. Quickly seizing his horn, he waked up its tone — A bias' half so thrilling he never had blown. Its tremulous accents were hearJ far away. And fill'd many a heart with fearful dismay ; As one echo died and another was born. The whole forest seem’d to be winding n horn ; And sage tftmtntain henni's all said, with a sigh, Tne tones of that horn whisper, danger is nigh. Tho’ in peal after peal, his bugle is plied, His fugitive pack are no more at his side. He pauses for counsel, yet counsel seems vain : He fears to retreat, and yet fears to remain— The fictions of fancy bewilder him so, He thinks his own breathings the tread of his foe With desperate conflict he steals from his place, His footsteps, in silence, a"ain to retrace ; Yet thinks, as he moves, ev’iy leaf ’neatli his feet, Makes noise most unwonted to sound his retreat. And oft times he halts, as in fancy, he sees Some form, as it silt * ly glides thro’ the trees. Now lie pauses to list on the brow of a hill: At first he heirs naught, save the murmuring rill, Whose waters, in darkness and solitude flow, Along the deep valley which opens below — A moment he lingers, and hears in his van, A sound which resembles the groans of a man. There rose a deep sighing, as tho’ ev’ry breath, Were point in dispu’e between victim and death. He now grasps his horn ! but before it is plied, A huge ugly form appears close at his side. His horn is releas’d and exchang’d for his knife : The parties now grapple in desperate strife. Our huntsman encounters with furious zeal. The breast of his foe with the point of his steel; And his wav’ring courage is strengthen'd, to know That he has to contend with a tangible foe. Yet thinks it most strange that he seems not to feel, Nor care for the stroke of his terrible s'eel. The arms of a giant around him are thrown : His hopes are now failing, he utters a groan Yet rallies his strength, so tenacious of life. And tries once again the keen point of his knife. A tury so desperate inspires the blow. It enters and pierces the heart of his foe— A howl and a shriek spoke the deed that was done. And told our huntsman that the battle was won- Th’ assailant was vanquishe !, yet mighty in and. ath, And thirsting revenge in his last dying breath. Collected his strength for a dpspt rate leap. And sprang with his foe from the tow'ring steep; In mortal embrace, between feeman and foe, They lodg'd for the nigh', in the valley below. \ neighboring hermit, the following m irn. In quest of some clue to the Ominous horn, Was rambling the forest, ami found in his wav, The spot where the forms of our combatant* 1 ay/ The one w as a monster, more ghastly in death. Our huntsman was breathing, yet fleeting his breath, He feebly related his history o'er, Then heav'd one deep sigh, and his pulse beat no more. This tragical 'ruth need not lie conceal'd, "v evident marks i> was clearly reveal’d ; T ie father had kill’d Ilia unfortunate child, Wlw» long had been lout in din’ desolate w ild, V'id no*, when the moon lights those forest*. 'nssaid, Chat valley resounds with the wails of the dead. Mount iiou. Feb. l*» (STAFFORD